


Hell's Bells and Hallelujah

by BleedingInk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1920's, Alternate Universe - Human, Bootleggers, F/M, Secret Relationship, Undecorver Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-14 18:24:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3420947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleedingInk/pseuds/BleedingInk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak is an undercover agent working for the Beaureau of Prohibition, trying to catch big-time bootlegger and gangster Lucifer Milton. Meg Masters a is jazz singer at The Pit, the speakeasy where Lucifer operates. When Castiel witnesses her perfomance, he is instantly smitten, but has to remind himself that is a very dangerous feeling: Lucifer doesn't like people staring too long at his fiancée.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [msdoomandgloom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msdoomandgloom/gifts).



If Castiel hadn’t been looking for it, he probably would have missed it.

The entry to The Pit was well hidden among the bricks of the alleyway, surrounded by dumpsters and bags of garbage that had been seemingly piling up for ages. The windows were boarded up and the door was so rusty it’d be a miracle if it actually opened up. But of course, the city’s most famous speakeasy wasn’t about to be announcing its access in big, bright letters.

Castiel shivered inside his trench coat and then knocked on the door, three times. He waited a moment, and then knocked twice more. The door screeched open and a man and a bearded, heavy-set man eyed him up and down. Castiel did the same with the bouncer, quickly taking in his bloody knuckles and the bulge under his coat. After a moment, the bouncer nodded and moved aside to make way for Castiel.

The contrast between the freezing cold night outside and the stifling air inside the building was like a slap in the face. Castiel walked down the steps that led to a basement that looked as decadent and empty as the outside, feeling like his trench coat was soon to become an unnecessary burden. But he didn’t dare to take it off until after the bouncer had patted him down to check for any hidden weapons. Azazel Masters didn’t tolerate people carrying guns inside his bar. Except for his own employees and a few other notable exceptions, of course.

After the search came up clean, the bouncer took a bunch of keys from his pocket and unlocked the paddle of the second, sturdier door in the basement. He didn’t say a word, but his gesture was almost solemn as he pushed it open.

Castiel was greeted by a thick cloud of smoke, a sudden silence and myriad of glances that went from curious to downright distrustful. He straightened his shoulders and ignored them all as he made his way to one of the red stools in front the bar. After he’d sat down, the black man playing the piano resumed his song and the patrons continued their drinking, smoking and gambling like Castiel was nothing but a fly on the wall.

A bartender with a cigarette behind his ear approached Castiel.

“What’s your poison?” he asked, with a gesture of indifference so perfect it couldn’t possibly be sincere.

“Brown plaid,” Castiel replied.

The bartender set the glass next to him and poured a liquid that looked a bit too yellowish to be whiskey. Castiel drank it down in one gulp anyway, and grimaced at the horrible flavor.

“Very funny,” he groaned. “Now can I have something to drink, please?”

A playful grin appeared on the bartender’s face.

“Sorry. House rules to scare away the prohis,” he shrugged as he took out a clean glass and a second bottle, this time with actual liquor in it. “Nice to see you again, Cas.”

“Dean.”

Castiel raised his glass and drank to the health of his old brother in arms. He slipped off his trench coat’s sleeves and enjoyed the momentary relief, but the bar was so heated he was sweating like a pig, and he was certain his clothes would be entirely damped in no time. Not the look he wanted to have when he was there for a job interview.

“When can I speak to Lucifer?” he asked Dean.

“Woah, hold your horses, buddy,” Dean said, shaking his head. “You can’t just go to the Big Boss, _he_ sends for you.”

“How is he going to send for me if he doesn’t know I’m here?”

“Oh, he knows. Trust me,” Dean replied. “And besides, he never discusses business until after Miss Master’s act.”

Castiel huffed with impatience.

“And when exactly is this act going to be?”

“Why, it’s about to start,” Dean said, lowering his voice.

Indeed, the bar seemed to have gone strangely quiet. When Castiel looked again at the stage, a trumpeter and a drummer had joined the piano and a fourth man with a tambourine under his arm was installing a microphone in the center of the stage. When he was done, he stood up next to it and cleared his throat.

“Ladies and gentleman,” he announced. “Our very own… Meg Masters!”

All the patrons clapped enthusiastically. Castiel suspected they had to, since she was Lucifer’s girl after all. And what a girl she was, too: she strutted upon the stage in a figure-hugging long red dress, with her black hair floating freely behind her as she made her way to the mic. The patrons shouted and whistled when she showed them a shy smirk, with her cheeks burning beautifully from the hot atmosphere. Castiel had to admit she was rather attractive, although nothing extraordinary in his opinion.

The piano began a slow, sensual melody, and she took a deep breath.

Castiel forgot about anyone and everything else.

_Someday he’ll come along_

_The man I love_

_And he’ll be big and strong_

_The man I love_

_And when he comes my way_

_I’ll do my best to make him stay_

She sang in a low, raspy tone, and her big dark eyes shone as she swept them across the bar, like she was looking for the man the song was about. Each one of the verses was punctuated by an encouraging cheer, and Castiel felt to impulse to hit whoever was doing that. He wanted to listen to her.

_He’ll look at me and smile_

_And I’ll understand_

_In a little while_

_He’ll take my hand_

She extended her gloved hand, and one of the men sitting in the front of the stage practically stumbled to his feet and offered her a rose. She delicately grazed her nose with the flower without interrupting the song.

_And though it seems absurd_

_I know we both won’t say a word_

She broke the rose’s stem and put the flower behind her ear. Everyone was enchanted by her sweet voice; even the flies seemed to have stopped buzzing to pay attention:

_He’ll build a little home_

_Just meant for two_

_From which I’ll never roam_

_Who would, would you?_

_And so, all else above_

_I’m waiting for the man I love…_

She ended the song in a deep, prolonged note and the entire joint exploded in a close applause. This time Castiel joined them with the upmost sincerity.

 

* * *

 

Meg Masters sang five more songs, all of them with the same voice that was as thick and sweet as honey. She moved her hips along the rhythm of the more catchy ones and sometimes she leaned against the piano, with a playful smirk in her velvety lips. Castiel found out he was unable to take his eyes off her the entire time, and was thoroughly disappointed when she wished them all goodnight and exited the stage.

He’d only had a couple of drinks but he felt dizzy all the same. He stood up (he wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to do, but he knew he wanted to follow her, maybe congratulate her for her act, as ridiculous as that sounded) but someone put a hand over his shoulder.

“Mr. Milton will see you now,” groaned the tall bouncer that had patted him down at the speakeasy’s entry.

Castiel was tempted to punch him in the face as Meg Master’s disappeared from his sight, but he got over it quickly. Right. That was the reason he was there for, anyway.

“Take me to him,” he said, straightening his back.

“Good luck,” Dean wished him as Castiel followed the bouncer across the bar.

On the further corner of the place, on a strategic point from where they could see everything that happened on the speakeasy, sat two men shrouded by thick cigarette smoke. There were some cards and chips on their table, along with several empty glasses of whiskey.

“Ah, Lafitte,” said the older man when they saw them arrive. “What have we here?”

Castiel recognized him by the strange yellowish coloration of his eyes: he was Azazel Masters, the owner of The Pit. He had a greasy smile as he analyzed Castiel, like a cat that had just spotted a particularly fat and slow mouse. Lafitte, the bouncer, bowed his head to his bosses and then left Castiel alone with them. As always when he was nervous, Castiel stood very rigidly, with his hands behind his back.

“So you’re Novak, huh?” Azazel asked, although Castiel was pretty certain no one that Azazel didn’t know ever crossed the doors of the speakeasy. He didn’t offer him a seat or his hand to shake, but it wasn’t like Castiel expected courtesies of any kind. “Our bartender speaks highly of you. How come you know each other again?”

“Dean and I served together during the Great War,” Castiel replied.

Azazel nodded, apparently pleased that at least the two men’s story matched.

“Where were you deployed to?” the second man asked.

Only then Castiel turned to his left and dared to glance at the man who was singlehandedly responsible for half of the city’s crimes, a man so fearsome his real had disappeared behind a nickname he was reportedly very proud of: Lucifer.

The first thing one noted about the infamous bootlegger was his grey eyes, cold as ice. He had dirty blonde hair and a red rose adorning the lapel of his coat that he hadn’t taken off despite the unbearable heat. He didn’t smile, but his lip was twisted in a clear display of utter contempt, like Castiel was nothing but a bug that he could squash the moment he buzzed the wrong way.

“St. Mihel,” he replied. “Lost many good friends there.”

Lucifer’s face remained unmoved, but Azazel nodded with something resembling respect.

“Dean tells me you’re out of luck in the job market,” he commented.

“There’s not many jobs for men who only know how to fight and fire a gun,” Castiel replied.

“Once a soldier, always a soldier, huh?”

“Indeed, sir,” Castiel nodded.

Azazel turned to the other man. He might have been the older of the two criminals, but it was obvious that Lucifer was the man Castiel needed to convince of his worth.

Just as the bootlegger opened his mouth to say something, a clatter of high heels against the floor interrupted them. Meg Masters passed next to Castiel without giving him so much as a glance, with her long black hair floating behind her. She had changed into a short white dressed that showed her calves and a generous portion of her back, and had a pearls necklace so long that fell all the way to her navel. Castiel felt the already suffocating temperature of the speakeasy had suddenly increased.

“There you are, my little dove,” Azazel greeted her as Meg sat down next to Lucifer. “This is the friend Dean’s been talking so much about.”

Meg took her time. She fished out a long cigarette holder from her purse and toyed with it between her long fingers for a moment before looking up at Castiel. Up close, she was even more beautiful: her round face was contorted in a derisive expression similar to her boyfriend’s, but her big brown eyes gave her an air of innocence as she looked at him with curiosity.

“The soldier?” she asked.

“Allow me, miss,” Castiel said, hurriedly taking out a lighter from his pocket. He hoped nobody noticed the light tremor in his hand as he lit Meg’s cigarette. Meg’s eyes open a little wider, like she was surprised, but she didn’t comment on it. Castiel had to remind himself to stop looking at her and turn his attention back to Lucifer.

The bootlegger’s cold stare had become only just slightly interested.

“As you might have realized,” he said, pronouncing every word very slowly, like he Castiel to understand each one of them clearly. “My fiancée is a very beautiful woman.”

He made a pause, and Castiel understood he was expected to give some sort of answer. But what could he really say that wouldn’t get him in trouble? If he accidentally offended Lucifer or his girl, he might as well consider himself a dead man.

In the end, he opted for a curt, dry nod. Lucifer seemed satisfied.

“She’s also a very modern woman,” he said. Somehow, he made it sound like an insult. “Can’t say I haven’t tried keeping her in place, but God knows that’s one impossible task.”

He laughed, and Meg’s lips curved into a forced smile. Castiel wondered how many times had she had to hear comments like that.

“Unfortunately, this means sometimes she has to deal with… unwanted attention,” Lucifer continued. “That’s why I need a man like you, Novak. To protect this pretty lil’ crazy dame of mine.”

Meg opened her mouth, like she was about to add something to that, but she was interrupted by Lafitte’s returned. The tall bouncer was dragging a squalid man by the collar of his shirt. Castiel recognized him as the guy who was sitting in the front row and had given Meg he rose.

“Why don’t you show us what you can do?” Lucifer asked. “Rough him a bit.”

Castiel looked at the terrified man, who started apologizing profusely and uselessly, because the bootlegger had obviously already decided his destiny. The former soldier didn’t like the idea of beating a poor devil half to death, but what options did he have? If Castiel refused, Lafitte would certainly take his place, and there was no telling if the giant would let the man live. Also, he would have missed his only chance to get close to Milton.

Meg let out an exasperated sigh. “Luc, is that really necessary?”

Lucifer didn’t even bother answering.

“Well?” he insisted. “We’re waiting.”

“P-Please,” the man stammered. “P-Please, I didn’t mean no disrespect to Miss Masters, I-I…”

Castiel’s fist impacted against the man’s jaw, effectively shutting him up. The guy stumbled, disoriented, but Castiel caught him by the lapels of his coat before he hit the floor. He pushed him against the wall, in an angle he knew Lucifer could observe his actions, and thrust his knee against the man’s stomach. The guy moaned in pain and coughed up violently. Castiel took a step aside just in time to avoid being splattered by vomit and blood. A couple of white little things floated in the puddle. Castiel had knocked a couple of teeth out of the unfortunate idiot’s mouth.

“Very good,” Lucifer approved, with a freezing grin. “Now get him out of our sight. And make sure to tell him he’s not to show his face around here anymore.”

Castiel grabbed the man by the collar, just like Lafitte had done before, and he half-pushed him, half-dragged him across the speakeasy. He practically had to carry him upstairs, and once they were out on the alleyway again, Castiel made a point to push the man to the ground so his clothes would be full of dust and dirt.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said sincerely, as he helped him up to his feet. “But you should’ve known better than to curt Lucifer’s moll.”

“Oh, don’t give me none of that crap,” the man groaned. “Everybody knows he don’t treat her like she deserves…”

“Even if that’s the case,” Castiel said. “What’s your name?”

“Adam,” the man muttered.

Now that he could take a good look at him, Castiel realized he couldn’t be older than twenty years old, way too young to be coming to seedy places and falling in love with jazz singers with gunslinger fathers and boyfriends.

“Adam,” he repeated. “Take my advice. Don’t get mix up with people like these. Find yourself a good gal. And if you don’t want your mother to cry over your grave, don’t come around here no more.”

The access door to The Pit opened, and Castiel let go of Adam, who fell to the ground with a pained whimper. Lucifer, Azazel and Meg were coming out of the place, and Azazel was helping her daughter put on a white fur coat. She was looking in every direction except for the one where Adam was lying only half-conscious. Lucifer took a couple of steps and tilted his head, like he was analyzing the damage Castiel had done to the boy’s face. Then he turned to the former soldier and offered him his hand.

“You start on Monday,” he told Castiel. “Come by the house so we can work out the details. Lafitte will give you the address.”

Then he offered his arm to Meg, and the three walked away from the alley. A part of Castiel was disappointed to see Meg didn’t turn around to look at him, but he shook his head and helped Adam stand up once again. Once he had got him a taxi, he returned to The Pit, which had been slowly but surely getting emptier. Empty enough to hold a private conversation away from prying ears, Castiel hoped. He sat by the counter once again, where Dean and Lafitte were waiting for him.

“How’d it go?” Dean wanted to know.

“I think I made a good impression,” Castiel said. He eyed Lafitte suspiciously.

“Benny’s alright,” Dean said, like he had read Castiel’s mind. “He’s on our side.”

“Brotha,” Benny said, extending a hand towards Castiel. “Glad to have you on board.” He lowered his voice an octave and added: “Been working with Milton for six months now, and I still haven’t caught ‘im doing nothing that we could use to convince a judge the streets are better off without this guy.”

“That’s no wonder. He’s got us all doing menial jobs,” Castiel pointed. “But I believe it’s just a matter of earning his trust.”

“Well, you’re in a better position to do that than us,” Dean said. “Maybe his girl knows something useful.”

“Doubt it,” Benny shook his head. “For what I heard, she’s a bit of a bearcat, but she’s too busy going painting the town most of the time to pay mind to what her dad and her boyfriend do.”

Castiel hadn’t had the same impression. As a matter of fact, Meg had come off as particularly aware of what was about to go down when Benny had dragged Adam to their table. By the way she had looked away, it was obvious she knew more than she would’ve liked.

“In any case, we’ll find out soon enough,” Castiel concluded.

Dean poured three glasses of whiskey.

“To catching this piece of trash red-handed,” he said.

The three undercover agents toasted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title from this fic comes from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ByeDtPJ4MNQ). The song Meg sings in this chapter is The Man I Love and you can hear wonderful Ella Fitzgerald singing it [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ySszeu4H4QI)


	2. Chapter 2

The Masters’ mansion was not as ostentatious as some of the houses in the same neighborhood, but Castiel felt a little intimidated all the same. He crossed the opened gates and stalked across the garden with perfectly trimmed rosebushes and green grass climbed the porch’s stair. He had to ring the bell twice before somebody answered.

“Yes?” a black young maid with long curly hair inquired.

“I’m looking for Mr. Masters,” Castiel said.

“Mr. Masters ain’t home right now,” the maid answered, staring at Castiel’s face with insolence. “If you’d like to leave a card, sir…”

“That’s alright, Cassie,” a husky voice intervened. “He’s my new _bodyguard_.”

The last word seemed to be pronounced with such contempt that a small smirk appeared on the maid’s thick lips. She stepped backwards to allow Castiel into a lobby adorned with luxurious statues and vases full of flowers. Meg Masters was standing on a doorway to the left, wearing nothing but a blue silk negligee that fell all the way down to her slippers. She had a cup of coffee in her hand from which she was sipping calmly, apparently not affected in the least that a virtual stranger would see her in such a state.

“Miss Masters,” Castiel greeted her with a little bow of his head.

“Novak, is it?” she asked. “You’re here to discuss the matter of payment, right?”

“And start right away,” Castiel said. “I believe that was Mr. Milton’s wishes.”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Milton’s wishes,” Meg said, rolling her eyes hard. “It was so brave of you how you beat the crap of that terrified poor boy that couldn’t possibly fight back.”

Cassie, who was still on the lobby pretending to dust the stair’s handrail, let out a little snicker she hid with a sudden coughing fit.

“I was simply following orders, Miss Masters,” Castiel said. He felt hurt and irritated, because he wasn’t proud of having to beat up Adam either. He had joined the Bureau to stop people from getting hurt, not to cause even more damage, but that was something he couldn’t explain to her.

“If you say so,” Meg said, with derision. “Well, if you want to start right away, why don’t you wait ‘til I finish my breakfast and make myself presentable? I have some shopping to do, and certainly Mr. Milton would like you to come with me. Or else the mannequins will start making inappropriate comments at me.”

This time, Cassie didn’t even bother to conceal her giggles.

 

* * *

 

Castiel’s first couple of weeks as Meg Master’s chauffer and bodyguard was, to put it mildly, a nightmare.

Most mornings, she woke up at the time respectable people were having lunch, and she made a point to eat her breakfast exasperatingly slow and joke with her maid about Castiel.

“Do you think he can move at all?” she said, ignoring the fact that Castiel was standing right there next to the table, listening to every word she said. “He’s so rigid; do you think he’s forgotten how to move his arms?”

“Now, now, Miss Masters, it ain’t nice to mock the poor man,” Cassie replied, although the smile in her face should have warned Castiel of what she added next: “I’m sure we could find some use for him. I mean, he’s standing so straight I’d wager I can iron a shirt by holding it against his back.”

Meg burst out laughing very loud, and the fact her laughter was as deep and melodious as her voice didn’t change the fact Castiel’s ears and face were burning bright red.

Then she went to her room where she changed, put on some make-up and, Castiel presumed, had a little more fun at his expense. By the time she was prepared to leave, Castiel would have been waiting two or three hours on his feet, not taking a seat because the whole business had become a matter of pride in his mind. He didn’t like Miss Masters poking him because of his military training, but he refused to be embarrassed by her relentless bullying.

On the afternoons, luckily, Meg was too busy ordering him to drive her around the city to insult him in any way or form. Castiel kept a detailed diary of Meg’s activities in case they would reveal something about Lucifer and Azazel’s ploys to smuggle the alcohol into the speakeasy. He was disappointed to find that, just as Benny had predicted, she was in no position to give him information about her father’s business. He even tried to subtly interrogate her about it once.

“So,” Castiel cleared his throat, looking at the gangster’s daughter through the rearview mirror. “I couldn’t help but to notice Mr. Masters isn’t at home much.”

“Daddy’s a very busy man,” Meg replied, powdering her nose with the help of a handbag mirror. “I almost never seen, except for the nights I perform at The Pit.”

“Must be lonely,” Castiel said. “Living in that big house all by yourself.”

Meg closed the mirror with a dry thump.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were paid to have an opinion,” she snapped.

“I-I’m not,” Castiel stammered, a little taking aback by her aggressive tone.

“Well, you better do that on your free time, then,” Meg said, arching an eyebrow. “Turn around this corner.”

What was around the corner was a shop. Meg might have not known how her father made his money, but she certainly made a point to spend it lavishly. Castiel would wait in the car outside this or that shop, sometimes for ten minutes, in which case Meg returned empty-handed, or two hours, in which case Meg would tap on the window and order him to get down and help her with the packages. Castiel wasn’t sure why a person would need that much clothes, but he was pretty sure that opinion would get him fire, and he would never be allowed to come closer to Meg ever again. Which wouldn’t be good for the operation in the end, of course.

In fairness, clothing wasn’t the only thing Meg brought in exaggeratedly large amounts. She also made a point to visit some of the seediest bookshops Castiel had ever seen. What kind of reading material she got there, Castiel wasn’t sure, but it sure as hell wasn’t any classics. On one occasion, as he helped Meg with the packages, one book’s wrapping tore and he clearly read the words “… quis de Sade” before Meg snatched it from his hand and asked him to hurry up.

She also bought a lot of jazz vinyl. Sometimes Castiel would arrive at the house and hear her singing along in the dining room, or right before he got in the house, he would see her silhouette moving around in her room, hidden to the world by a thin curtain. He didn’t know how, but those moments made him smile. Maybe because those were the only times Meg wasn’t unleashing her usual bravado at him. Or maybe because it made him think back to that night at The Pit, where he had seen her act for the first time and had been completely smitten by her as she sang about loving a man that hadn’t arrived to her life yet.

That night he had fallen under her spell, just like Adam, and just like every other man on the room, believed for as long as the song lasted, that he could be that man.

He had to be very careful with those feelings.

At least three times a week, Meg visited a Ladies’ Athletic Club to play tennis. The place was apparently for rich young women like her, because there was a whole area destined to the gentlemen who were waiting for their daughters or girlfriends or, in his case, employer. He lost count of how many afternoons he spent there, sipping coffee and reading the newspapers while he waited for Meg to finish her game.

One time he was able to sit next to the window (a privileged seat which was rarely free) and caught a glimpse of her running around the court. Her hair was damped by the sweat, and the white short skirt she wore would occasionally tangle around her legs. Castiel didn’t know much about tennis, but he found his attention completely absorbed by the game. Later, he wouldn’t be been able to say if Meg won or lose. Hell, he wouldn’t even remember how the girl she played against looked. But he could describe perfectly the way her lips parted while she tried to catch her breath and the way her long fingers gripped the racket.

That was the day he understood there was nothing he could really do about his attraction to Meg Masters, except holding it in and remind himself that was a very dangerous path.

That was also the day Meg came back fuming.

“She’s getting married,” she spat as soon as Castiel started the car to drive her back home. “Can you believe that?”

“Who’s getting married?” Castiel asked, a little confused.

“Sarah,” Meg said, as if Castiel should’ve known that name right away. “Sarah Blake, my tennis partner.”

“Oh,” Castiel nodded. “I see. I’m sure you’re very happy for your friend…”

“No,” Meg said bluntly.

“No, you’re not, alright,” Castiel hastily agreed, although he wasn’t certain why.

“It’ll be the end of her,” Meg predicted, looking outside the window. “As soon as man puts the handcuffs on you, he thinks he owns you and you’re only allowed to go where he lets you and nowhere else. You’re supposed to be quiet and adorn his arm at parties and business meetings and do little else besides staying at home and pushing out his hideous children. Why would I be happy that my friend is walking right into that trap?”

Castiel had never seen her so furious. Normally her anger was cold, full of sarcastic remarks some people would miss if they weren’t on the lookout for them. But now she seemed ready to destroy everything around her with her bare hands.

“But, Miss Masters…” he began hesitantly. “You’re getting married soon too.”

Meg’s mouth twitched in an upset grimace, and Castiel understood he’d made a mistake by reminding her of that. She stayed quietly mad at him for the rest of the ride.

By far, the worst part of it all was accompanying her to the speakeasy the nights she performed there. Castiel had to stand outside her dressing room while she changed, before and after her act, to shoo away anyone who tried to bother her.

“Miss Masters is busy,” he would repeat like a broken record. “She needs to concentrate before her act. She’s tired and doesn’t wish to see anybody.”

It wasn’t really anybody’s fault: Meg couldn’t help the charisma she displayed on stage, and those boys couldn’t be helped but to be drawn to her, like a moth to the flame. Only the bravest or the most naïve ones, like Adam had been, dared to come around to ask if they could speak with her or give her a flower. Castiel always tried to scare them away merely glaring at them or cracking his knuckles, because if they became too insistent, Lucifer would expect to see them with their faces all black and blue when he stepped out on the alleyway. That wasn’t something Castiel particularly enjoyed doing.

“Please, sir,” he said that night, looking at a boy with a white rose between his quivering fingers. “Refrain from bothering Miss Masters any longer.”

The boy ran for his life. Castiel looked at his watch. He was pretty certain Meg was already late and was about to knock, when the door cracked open.

“Novak,” Meg called him. “I need you in here.”

She gave no further details, so Castiel had no choice but to enter the dressing room to find out what she wanted. When he did, he immediately closed the door behind him. He wasn’t stupid enough to risk Lucifer finding him in that situation.

“Blue dress or red dress?” Meg asked, holding one in each hand. She was standing in the middle of the room, wearing nothing but a white camisole that was much too thin to conceal her figure and black stockings with suspenders hanging loose at the sides.

Castiel swallowed loudly and then looked aside, which was no help, because no he was watching Meg’s reflection in the big mirror mounted on the wall.

“I don’t know, Miss Masters,” he replied, looking at the other side and trying to make his voice sound as firm as he could.

“Well, which one you think it’d look better?” Meg insisted, impatiently.

“I really can’t say,” Castiel replied.

“What, you some kind of fag?” she groaned.

“No, Miss Masters,” he said, reminding himself he couldn’t lose his patience with her. “It’s simply that Mr. Milton has made it very clear that I’m supposed to give a strong warning to any man who comments about your appearance.”

Meg lowered the dresses, obviously lost from that answer.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Since I am the one who is supposed to enforce that order, I’d have to beat myself up if I disobey it,” Castiel explained. “I’d reckon that would be very awkward, at least.”

Meg blinked. Then, a slow, small smirk appeared on her face.

“Did you just make a joke?” she chuckled.

Castiel simply remained on his spot, but at least this time he was able to look at her in the eye. He wasn’t even aware he was smiling as well from having let Meg Masters speechless for once. The singer laughed in good faith, and threw the red dress aside before stepping in the blue one and pulling it up.

“Button me up, will you?” she asked, turning her back on him. “You surprise me, soldier,” she added, while Castiel followed her instructions. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“There’s many a thing you don’t know about me, Miss Masters,” Castiel said, as he finished with the last button.

“I suppose you’re right,” Meg said, looking at him over her shoulder. “But that’s because you never say a word.”

“I didn’t know you wanted me to say a word,” Castiel replied. “With how often you’re telling me to shut up and all.”

Meg turned around once more and took a step towards him. She was so close Castiel could smell her perfume, the sweet scent of jasmines tickled in his nose.

“Maybe I’ll change my mind from now on,” she whispered.

Castiel maintained his deadpan expression as she passed him by on her way out. When he was certain he was alone, he let out the sigh he’d been containing since he’d walked in that dressing room.

 

* * *

 

After Meg performed, Castiel was always dismissed for she would be returning home escorted by her fiancé and her father, so Castiel had the opportunity to share the developments (or the lack thereof) of the operation with Benny and Dean.

“They’re saying there’s a new cargo arriving in a few months,” Benny told them. “If we could corner Lucifer while he’s at it…”

“But he’s not letting you in on the details, is he?” Dean said, frustrated. “So what do we do? How are we going to catch him if we don’t know when or where he’ll be bringing it in?”

“No idea, brotha,” Benny admitted. He looked downright crestfallen. Then he looked at Castiel. “Maybe you can help out.”

“I don’t see how,” Castiel replied, sincerely. “You were right, Meg isn’t involved…”

“Maybe not directly,” Benny said. “But Lucifer likes to brag, especially in front of his dames. Maybe he’ll do or say something to her that we could use.”

“His dames?” Dean repeated. “What, he’s got more than one?”

“The other’s a blonde that lives on the other side of town,” Benny nodded. “Her name’s Lilith. Azazel don’t know about her, of course. He wouldn’t allow for anyone to be double-crossing his little girl, even if that someone’s Milton.”

“Maybe we could use that,” Dean said, snapping his fingers. “Maybe we can pitch them against one another…”

“And break Meg’s heart in the process?” Castiel asked.

He didn’t mean to say it out loud. His partners looked at him confused for a moment. Castiel gulped down the rest of his drink to avoid his gazes.

“Brotha, you gotta consider she’ll be of more use to us that way,” Benny said. “Hell hath no fury and all that jazz.”

“She’s innocent,” Castiel insisted. “She’s not to blame for what her father or her boyfriend do.”

“Woah, Cas, if I didn’t know you better, I’d say you have a little something for this girl,” Dean pointed out, and Castiel went quiet for far too long. “Cas?” Dean asked, a little scandalized now. “Tell me you didn’t get close to her.”

Castiel raised his eyes, ready to lie, but Benny interrupted him:

“No, that’s good. Do that. Get close to her,” he said. “The more she trusts you, the more she will confide in you on the topic of Lucifer.”

“I don’t know,” Dean said, eyeing Castiel. “What if he gets too close? Could be dangerous.”

“Well, if the man can’t handle a little danger, he shoulda found himself another job,” Benny concluded.

“I’ll do it,” Castiel said before Dean could open his mouth to protest some more. “I’ll see what information she can provide me with. You don’t need to worry, Dean.”

By the face his old friend made at him, Castiel understood Dean was already worried.


	3. Chapter 3

The following morning at the Masters’ mansion began as usual. Cassie opened the door, gave him the evil eye and then informed him Miss Masters was having breakfast and invited him to the dining room to wait. As usual, Meg was sitting amongst several plates with fruits, toasts and butter, and she was sipping from her cup of coffee. She acknowledged his presence with a nod, and Castiel remained standing by the door, as usual.

“Why don’t you sit, Novak?”

Castiel didn’t move at first because he wasn’t sure he heard right.

“Miss?” he asked, in the end.

“Sit,” Meg invited him again, pointing at the chair in front of her with a jerk of her chin. “Have you had breakfast?”

“I-I did,” Castiel stammered, trying to keep his confusion under control as he obeyed.

“Good.”

They remained silent for a while, Castiel fidgeting in his seat, wondering what kind of new joke was this. Meg gulped down the rest of the coffee and grabbed a toast.

“Where are you from, Novak?” she asked, while she spread butter on it.

“Excuse me?” Castiel was still lost from this new development.

“Where were you born?” Meg insisted. “You must have been born somewhere, haven’t you?”

“Pontiac,” Castiel replied, carefully. How much would it be safe to reveal about himself? “It’s a town in Illinois.”

“Were you an only child?”

“No, I have several brothers and sisters… I’m sorry, Miss Masters,” he said. “I don’t understand why you want me to talk about this.”

“Well, Cassie is busy in garden,” Meg replied with a shrug. “I’m bored. I want someone to make conversation with. Is that really that hard to understand?”

It was hard to understand, because up until that point, Meg had shown a complete disinterest in him, other than to tell you to hurry up or to order him around.

“Besides,” she added, with a wicked smirk appearing on her face. “I told you I might change my mind about you not saying a word.”

Castiel thought back at that moment in the dressing room, and hoped like hell his face wasn’t getting red.

“So,” Meg continued in between bites of her toast. “You’ve been to France, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, a little relieved because that was a topic he could speak of without danger. “That’s where Dean and I were sent.”

“And how was it?”

Castiel had to think about it for a moment before answering.

“Bloody,” he said in the end. “Unpleasant. Wars usually are.”

“Did you volunteer or were you drafted?”

“My older brother Michael convinced me and some of my other siblings it was our duty to our country to enlist,” Castiel told her. “That it was what our father would have wanted.”

“And would he?”

That was a trick question. Castiel hesitated for a long while before answering:

“I don’t really know. I barely remember him. He left us when I was very young.”

Meg’s big brown eyes were like darts, like she was analyzing every one of his gestures and every one of his words as he spoke. Like she was trying to catch him on a lie.

“My mother, Noami, she was a good woman,” Castiel continued. “Severe. Inflexible. She had to be to keep a hold of her teaching job at a Catholic school, which she needed desperately with all the mouths she had to feed. She was rarely home, so if we needed anything, we’d go to Michael rather than to her.”

“So when he said jump…”

Castiel didn’t complete the phrase, but nodded indicating Meg had got the gist of the situation.

“Four of us enlisted, and two of my sisters volunteered to work as nurses,” he continued. “Mother was proud of us.”

“Did y’all make it back home?”

That was another hairy question. Castiel cleared his throat and hoped if he stayed quiet long enough, Meg would withdraw the question. Luckily he didn’t have to. Cassie sauntered inside with a bouquet of freshly cut flowers. She had lost her usual cheeky demeanor, and instead, she looked slightly sad, with her slumped shoulders and downcast eyes.

“There you go, Miss Masters,” she said, leaving it on the table next to Meg. “I tried to choose the most colorful ones for him.”

“Thanks, Cassie.”

“Do you need help getting dress, miss?” Cassie asked while Meg stood up.

“No, that’s alright. Just pick this up,” Meg said, pointing at the remains of her breakfast. “I’ll probably be back for lunch, alright?”

Ten minutes later, Meg walked down the stairs in a black dress and a hat with a veil that covered her face. Castiel was taken aback, not only by the dress’ color (in sharp contrast with the embroidered reds, blues and purples Meg usually favored) but also for how conservative it was: it had long sleeves and the shirt fell almost all the way down to the middle of her calves. She picked up the flowers Cassie had gathered and beckoned Castiel to follow her.

“You know where the Our Lady of Eternal Peace’s Cemetery is?” she asked, while Castiel held the automobile’s door opened for her.

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s where we’re going.”

 

* * *

 

Castiel parked outside the cemetery and opened the door for Meg. She juggled with her purse and the bouquet and crossed the golden gates without telling Castiel how long he would have to wait. He never would’ve pegged Meg for someone religious, and indeed, she passed by the cemetery’s little chapel without even glancing at it. He watched her from a distance, as he leaned on the car and smoked a cigarette. Meg climbed a small, green hill and entered a small mausoleum with angels guarding the doors. She remained there for several minutes, and when she returned, the veil in her face did nothing to hide her red, swollen eyes.

“Give me one of those, will you?”

Castiel immediately gave her one and lit up for her. Meg took a long drag and then sat on the car’s boot. They smoked in silence for several seconds. Castiel wanted to ask who was buried there, but he suspected that doing so would get Meg to tell him to shut up once more.

“You never answered my question,” she pointed out, suddenly.

“What question?” Castiel asked, tilting his head towards her.

“About your brothers,” Meg said. “You didn’t tell me if y’all came back.”

Castiel toyed with the cigarette between his fingers. It wasn’t a topic he liked to bring up, but as Benny had said, he needed her to trust him. Maybe sharing a part of his story would help.

“We all did,” he said. “But I still lost a brother.”

Meg turned her head towards him and raised her eyebrows, obviously interested and waiting for him to continue.

“His name was Gabriel,” Castiel said. “He was… the funniest of us all. He was always jesting, laughing and looking for a party to go to. He had all the friends and all the girls he could want.”

Gabriel had dark blonde hair and golden eyes. Growing up, Castiel thought his brother looked a lot like the archangel painted in the church they went to on Sundays. But of course, he could’ve never pictured his brother with such a serious and solemn expression. In fact, even during the service, Gabriel always had some joke or witty remark to make. Needless to say, it was hard for the Novak kids to keep a straight face, no matter how much it angered their mother.

The memory painted a smile in his face.

“What happened to him?” Meg asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“When we came back, most of us were fine,” Castiel said, shaking his head. “But he… he would have nightmares about what’d happened in the battlefield. Every night, terrible nightmares. He would wake up screaming and could never go back to sleep. He lost weight, he lost his job…”

It was painful to remember how Gabriel’s smile that had always been fix point in his face started to show up less and less, how the glint on his golden eyes had become to extinguish with each passing day. He didn’t tell Meg about the angry outburst in which Gabriel would scream or punch the walls for no reason; he didn’t tell her how his mother only reaction had been to pray for the recovery of her son’s wavering sanity. He didn’t tell her how Michael had called Gabriel weak for not just being able to carry his load, like he did, like they all did, and he didn’t tell her about the terrible fight that had ensued between the two.

“Eventually, he discovered that if he drank a shot of whiskey before going to sleep, he would feel better,” he told her instead. “And then it became two shots and then three. Then it came a time where he didn’t even bother to be sober at all. One morning, two years ago, they found him in an alleyway. He had passed out dead drunk on a puddle of water and drowned.”

“Did no one notice when he didn’t come home?” Meg asked, frowning.

“Only mother was there and she didn’t even wait up for him anymore,” Castiel explained. “This didn’t happen overnight, miss. It took years. The war had ended five years ago, and we all had moved on by then, left home to find our place. One of my sisters even got married, but he… he just stayed at home and drank himself to death.”

The funeral had been the most horrible experience Castiel had gone through, and yes, he was counting the Battle of St. Mihel. Naomi had been practically catatonic, like she couldn’t understand what was going on. Castiel had never seen her so old and tired as they put the table and dined in a stunned silence. Almost at the end, Anna, his sister, had stood up with her red hair pointing in every direction and pointed and accusing finger at Michael.

“This is all your fault!” she’d shouted. “You did this to Gabriel! If you haven’t dragged him to that stupid war…!”

“Gabriel did this to himself!” Michael had replied, furious. Their temper had got the best of him, and they had said some things Castiel was sure they regretted, but as far as he knew, they hadn’t exchanged a word since that day.

Which had also been the last time the entire family gathered together.

And also the day he decided to accept the job he had been offered at the Bureau.

He didn’t tell Meg any of that. Instead, all he said was:

“You can take a soldier out of the war, but you can’t always take the war out of the soldier.”

He finished his cigarette and threw it away. Meg still was halfway through hers. She seemed pensive.

“Where do you reckon Gabriel is now?” she asked suddenly.

The question startled Castiel so much that at first he didn’t understand the meaning of it.

“I’d wager in the Cemetery of St. Peter, where we left him,” he said. Gabriel would have been proud of him for that joke.

“No, I mean, if you think _he_ is somewhere?” Meg clarified. She was certainly not amused by Castiel’s wit. “Like Heaven or Hell and all that nonsense priests keep babbling on about.”

“Oh.”

Castiel reflected about it. It had been a while since he had gone to church, and even longer since he left Sunday school, but some of the habits and thoughts his mother had instilled on him still remained.

“Yes,” he said, in the end. “I like to think he’s in a better place now.”

“I don’t,” Meg said, bluntly. “I like to think that when we die we don’t go nowhere. That we just disappear. Like smoke in the air.”

“That’s… grim, Miss Masters,” Castiel pointed out.

“Is it?” she said. “I find it comforting. Especially when you consider most of the people I love probably won’t go to the better place.”

She threw the stub to the floor and stepped on it to put it away. It was like she was putting an end to the conversation at the same time.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t think I’m going anywhere else today,” Meg said when they went back to the mansion for lunch. In Meg’s world, four o’clock in the afternoon was a perfectly okay hour to have lunch. “You can take the rest of the day off, Novak.”

“B-But…,” he stuttered, although he wasn’t sure she’d heard him because she was already climbing up the stairs, probably to get rid of that comprising dress.

Cassie appeared from outside the dining room. She too had puffy eyes and bloodshot eyes.

“She went up, didn’t she?” she asked at Castiel, who was still standing in the middle of the lobby, not entirely sure of what had happened.

“She dismissed me,” Castiel said, frowning. “I thought she had a performance tonight.”

“Well, would you be in the mood for performing on the anniversary of your brother’s death?” Cassie huffed, obviously irritated at Castiel’s obtuseness.

“I didn’t know,” Castiel said. But suddenly, Meg’s strange mood and all the chat about Castiel’s brother made sense.

“Well, now you do,” Cassie replied. She managed to look fierce even when she was obviously very sad as well. “And she told you to clear out, so clear out.”

She added a little wave of her duster for emphasis and turned around to go after Meg.

Castiel would later tell himself he was just making the most of an opportunity. Than what he did next had nothing to do with Meg as a person, and everything to do with getting on her good side for useful that would be. Luckily, he didn’t have to repeat it out loud, because then it would have been how much of a lie that was.

He put a hand on Cassie’s shoulder to stop her.

“You and Miss Masters are good friends, aren’t you?”

Cassie took a step backwards, eyeing Castiel like he was a disgusting mess she’d have to clean up.

“I’ve been working in the house for years,” she said. “Of course, we have certain… familiarity.”

“But you are her friend,” Castiel insisted. “Not just her maid, her friend.”

“Well, and what would be the problem with that exactly?” Cassie replied, raising her chin proudly.

“It’s not a problem,” Castiel said. “In fact, it’s a solution.”

Cassie frowned, but she still stayed long enough to listen to Castiel.

 

* * *

 

The night was rather chilly by the time Castiel parked in front of the mansion hours later. He looked at his watch and realized he was five minutes early, which meant he’d have to wait at least twenty minutes. But when Cassie and Meg came out of the house and he put the newspaper down to look at them, he couldn’t deny it was worth it.

They were both dressed up to the nines, with short dresses and shiny buckle shoes. Meg’s was violet with an elaborated black embroidery, and Cassie’s (Castiel suspected it was also Meg’s and had lent it to her friend) was red with fringes on the skirts. They both were wearing pearl necklaces that went all the way down to their navels, and Cassie had managed to get her unruly hair under a cap with a flower ornament on one side while Meg had a  headband adorned with a single feather. They both smiled at them with deep red smiles.

“Well, Novak,” Meg laughed as they both slid inside the backseat. “What do you think? Aren’t you the luckiest man in town to be seen with these two beautiful dames?”

Cassie had done a wonderful job at convincing Meg tonight’s escapade had been her idea, because the gangster’s daughter was once again wearing the playful smirk that Castiel was used to seeing on her face. After speaking to Cassie, he had made a very slow exit, and just as he expected, the maid had caught up with him right at the gates.

“Well, I’ll be damn, but she does look livelier just thinking about it,” she’d admitted. “She wants you to pick us up at nine, and to not say a word to her father.”

Castiel wasn’t going to, but it was much harder to explain to his partners why he wouldn’t be at The Pit that night. Dean had protested endlessly, but Benny had convinced him it was the best Castiel could do not to blow his cover.

“I’d reckon I must be, Miss Masters,” Castiel said. He wasn’t being sarcastic at all. “So where is this place that you want me to take you again?”

“Just drive,” Meg said, shaking her head. “We’ll find some place to entertain ourselves sooner than later.”

“Turn around on the Avenue,” Cassie indicated, as she opened her purse and pulled out some cigarettes. “There’s a nice little spot where the fun’s always one or two drinks away.”

“That’s how we like it!” Meg laughed and lit up her cigarette. “My, but none of that grandfather driving you do tonight. Go faster, dammit!”

Castiel patiently endured the jokes and jabs at his driving style and started the car. They made it to the place Cassie had indicated in less than twenty minutes, and by then, Meg and Cassie had smoked three cigarettes each and fixed their make-up several times. The car ended up stinking like a strange mixture of tobacco and perfume. Well, if he was going to spend the whole night, there were less pleasant smelling places he could do it at, so he wasn’t about to complain.

But he had just reached out for his newspaper again when a hand came to rest in his forearm.

“Come on now, Novak,” Meg told him, laughing at his incredulous expression. “You’re coming in with us.”

“But Miss Masters…” Castiel tried to protest.

“You’re my bodyguard, aren’t you?” she argued. “You’re supposed to keep me safe, and how are you going to do that from all the way out here if I’m in there?”

There was no arguing against that logic. With the sensation that the night couldn’t really end well, Castiel followed them into the joint.


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing that shocked Castiel about the place was how illuminated it was. Compared to speakeasies like The Pit, that favored dimmer lights and a generally more reserved ambient, this place was shining bright all around. The heat inside was similar to that of the illegal bar, though, but the chatter and laughter around were very different. Gangsters and all sort of lowlifes gathered at The Pit to gamble and make business, so the tables rarely had more than three occupants at a time. In there, all the tables had been knocked together and numerous groups of people were laughing and talking loudly. There was smoke everywhere too, although not as thick as the permanent cloud of black smoke there was in The Pit, and the melodies the band at the stage were playing were also much faster than the slow jazz and blues Meg used to sing to.

“Cassie Robinson!” a thunderous voice screamed as soon as they crossed the doorway. “Look at you, all dressed up!”

“Hello, Missouri!” Cassie gave a peck on each cheek of the large, black woman that had greeted them. “You remember Meg?”

“Like anyone could ever forget her!” Missouri laughed. “Why, girl, we thought the man who put the handcuff on you didn’t fancy you coming to places like this.”

“Well… out of sight, out of mind, right?” Meg said with a wink.

“Damn right!”

Meg and Cassie were immediately invited to join a table. Castiel tried standing up on a corner discreetly, but Meg grabbed him by the arm and sat him down by her side.

“This’ your ball and chain?” somebody asked.

“Hell no,” Meg laughed. “This is Novak, the soldier.”

“The man needed to relax yesterday, you know?” Cassie added.

Nobody made any further inquiries about Castiel, except to ask him which drink he preferred.

“Oh, I really can’t be…”

“Come on, Novak,” Meg said. “You need to live a little.”

“Yeah, I’ve got something just for that!”

Before Castiel knew what was going on, somebody had put a drink in his hand and Meg was urging him to drink it. There was no way he could avoid that, so he down it promising himself it’d be the only one. He still had to keep an eye on Meg and drive her back home afterwards, and he would need a clear mind to do all that. The booze burned on its way down his stomach.

The conversation and laughter grew louder as more and more started arriving. Some of them greeted Meg like they were old friends, most of them asked her if she was going to sing.

“We haven’t heard you since Tom passed and your daddy turned The Pit into a funeral home,” a boy said.

“What do they mean?” Castiel asked, confused, but both Meg and Cassie were two entertained laughing at someone else’s joke to pay attention to him.

“Don’t you know?” Missouri came to his rescue as she poured more alcohol in Castiel’s empty glass. “The Pit used to belong to Tommy, Meg’s brother. The old man Masters had given it to him so he could have a business on his own, you know? And Tommy turned into one of the nicest places in town. Meg sang there all night long, yes, sir. Good times.”

“And what happened?”

“Well, Tommy – rest his soul – went and got himself shot in some back alley,” Missouri told him. “Ugly business, everybody was so sad. That must’ve been… my, four years exactly today.”

Four years. Exactly the amount of time the Bureau calculated Lucifer had been operating in The Pit.

“Anyway, after that, old man Masters had to get involved in business with that bully of Milton,” Missouri continued. “He brought along all his crooks and goons with him, and that’s no environment for a party. Most of the people who used to hang there came here, even the old band did. But you know; Meg had to keep her act there for his father and all.”

Castiel was quickly ordering those pieces of information on his brain. Azazel Masters was probably grooming his son Tom to take over his business when he retired or died. Only Tom had died before, and that’s when Azazel started dealing with Lucifer. He knew Lucifer had a lover on the side and Meg seemed all around repulsed by the idea of marriage. Could it be that their engagement was merely a business agreement? It was looking more and more like it.

The band changed tunes and started playing an even more cheerful melody.

“Oh, my God!” Cassie screamed, jumping from her chair. “Meg!”

Meg took one last drag and stub out her cigarette against the table before taking Cassie’s hand and leading her to the open space near the stage. Without caring that they were the only ones there, they started frenetically moving their arms and feet, the dresses lifting up to shamelessly show their thighs, and their long necklaces flying in every direction. In Castiel’s mind, it was a miracle that nobody got an eye out, especially when a minute later, more and more people joined them. Some couples moved together, but most danced by themselves, following a rhythm that escaped Castiel’s comprehension.

He moved closer to the dance floor so he wouldn’t lose sight of Meg, but he didn’t really have to: when people around her crowded her too much, she simply stood on the closest table and kept dancing with a freedom and abandonment that Castiel had never seen. By the end of the song, she had lost the feather of her headband, and her face was all red and covered in sweat. Some people applause, and she bowed at them before stepping down from the chair and making her way towards Castiel.

“Can’t remember the last time I danced a good Charleston!” she said, laughing and stealing the drink from Castiel’s hand.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, Miss Masters,” Castiel replied. He meant it. With her cheeks red and her eyes shining, she looked more beautiful and happier than ever.

“Why you gotta be so stuck-up?” Meg said, softly punching him on the shoulder. “Miss Masters was my mother. Call me Meg, damn you.”

“Well… I’m actually pretty sure your mother was _Mrs_. Master, Miss Masters,” Castiel pointed out.

Meg stared at him for a moment, and then she burst out laughing.

“Novak, that’s the second time I’ve heard you make a joke,” she said, placing a hand on Castiel’s cheek. “Next thing I’ll find out is that you’re actually an incredible dancer.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Castiel said. He was torn between the impulse of taking a step backwards and the impulse to lean in closer to her touch. “I’ve been reliably informed I’ve got two left feet.”

“How did the Army accepted you if you’re so lousy?”

“Turns out two left feet are actually pretty useful for fast running.”

This time Meg’s laughter lasted several minutes, and in the end, she was wiping tears from her eyes.

“See? You’re funny when you want to be.”

Castiel figured he wasn’t really being that funny, but maybe the alcohol and the adrenaline from the dancing were getting to Meg’s head.

A blonde-haired man with a very elegant suit stood behind Meg.

“Excuse me, Miss,” he said, gently touching her shoulder to get her attention. “Would you do me the honor of dancing the next piece with me?”

“Well, since Novak here insists on being a killjoy…” Meg said, and she threw an eloquent glance at Castiel. “Or what, have you suddenly learnt how to use your two left feet?”

Castiel shook his head. “Please, go.”

Meg emptied Castiel’s glass before returning it to him, and let the blonde man lassoed her arm. A searing feeling of rage started boiling in Castiel’s guts, but he ignored it as he lit another cigarette. Meg was free to dance with whoever she wanted whenever she wanted. The fact he couldn’t keep his eyes from the back of her head had all to do with his job and not with him wishing to stamp his fist in the blonde man’s face. He had to control himself. Although the little voice in his head that kept repeating that she was probably not in love with Lucifer and that he wouldn’t know how to make her happy didn’t help.

He realized that was the same argument Adam had used to get close to her that first night at The Pit. He wanted to slap and laugh at himself at the same time for not knowing better than a kid with a crush.

He wasn’t exactly sure how many hours he spent standing by the counter, smoking cigarette after cigarette and drinking only when the heat became unbearable. Meg and Cassie joined him in between pieces or whenever they got thirsty, but they always returned to the dance floor almost immediately after, by themselves or with some other gentleman that invited them. The blonde man (Castiel learnt from Meg his name was Brady) returned for seconds several times.

The party reached its peak at around two in the morning, and afterwards, people who were either too drunk or too tired started leaving. Cassie came to inform Castiel she was leaving with a friend, so he would only have to drive Meg home. As they walked away, Castiel saw Cassie’s “friend” lowering his hands towards her ass.

“Wish it was you getting lucky, huh?” said Missouri, who’d also returned next to Castiel several times to fill his glass, even though he had consistently been avoiding to drink.

“I have all the luck I can handle, thank you,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, right,” Missouri chuckled. “You know, that would be much easier to believe if you didn’t look at her like she was the sun, the moon and the stars.”

“I’m sorry, I think you’re confused,” Castiel said. “Miss Robinson and I merely happen to work for the same people…”

“I’m talking about Meg, boy,” Missouri replied. “You haven’t taken your peepers off her all night.”

Castiel was about to protest that of course he hadn’t, because that was his job, but then a thin hand came to rest on his shoulder.

“Novak, come on,” Meg told him. Her lips weren’t as red as when they’d left the mansion, but her smirk was just as charming. “They’re going to play a slow song. Even you should manage to keep up with that.”

“Miss…”

“Humor me,” Meg begged. “I’m tired of Brady trying to get his hands all over me.”

Castiel’s ears buzzed at the thought of the blonde man being inappropriate with Meg, so he almost didn’t realize she was dragging him right to the center of the dance floor and throwing her arms around his neck. Her body was practically grinding against Castiel’s and the only thing he managed to do amidst his confusion was grab one of Meg’s hands and put his other arm around her swaying hips. She leaned closer to Castiel to put her head on his shoulder and hummed the melody in his ear. Her raspy voice followed the lazy notes of the piano perfectly, and she had to take the lead, because Castiel’s knees were trembling.

“See? That’s not so bad,” she chuckled.

“It’s highly unprofessional on my part, though,” Castiel said. The blood was rushing to his head and Meg’s eyes fixed on his face didn’t really help the situation.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” she promised with a wink.

Maybe it was the alcohol he had been drinking all night, maybe it was the lights and the warmth of Meg’s body against his, or a combination of all that that made Castiel feel dizzy and lightheaded. His heart was pounding hard on his chest and he had to remind himself to breathe out every time Meg’s perfume invaded his nostrils. He tensed his back, but immediately relaxed it again under Meg’s touch. They were sliding together through the dance floor, with the trumpet playing a tune as calming as a lullaby.

It was so pleasant. Almost like a dream. Castiel closed his eyes, hoping to memorize every tiny detail of Meg purring in his ear, their legs grazing with each movement, their fingers intertwined…

“Have you thought about it, Novak?” Meg asked, suddenly.

“Mmm… what?” Castiel asked, shaking his head.

Meg was looking at another couple of dancers, who had just decided to disappear in the darkest corner of the joint giggling. Castiel could see their figures melted into one, just before some furious petting ensued.

“Maybe I’ll even let you and everything,” Meg laughed.

And just like that, Castiel’s bubble was burst.

He stopped in his tracks and took a step backwards, but it was really hard for him to think with Meg so up close.

“I reckon it’s time I took you home, Miss Masters.”

Meg looked both confused and disappointed.

“What, you can’t take a joke?”

Castiel’s answer was to adopt his usual rigid military posture, with his shoulders straightened and his hands behind his back.

“You’ve had a lot to drink,” he said. “And it’s getting quite late.”

Meg simply stood there, staring at him with one eyebrow raised.

“Well, you are one irredeemable bluenose, ain’t you?” she said. Castiel remained in his spot, quietly enduring her taunting, which only seemed to irritate her further. “Fine,” she agreed, stomping on the floor, and turning around. “You can go wait by the car.”

“Where are you going?” Castiel asked when she began walking away.

“To powder my nose!” she shouted, and it was almost like she was daring Castiel to stop her.

He didn’t, of course. He lowered his eyes to avoid all the curious glances that everyone in the half-empty joint was throwing in his direction and left.

The street was silent, except for a lonely cricket chirping nearby and the now muffled murmur of the joint. Castiel put on his hat with a sigh and leaned against the car.

Well, what was he expecting? Of course Meg had been playing with him, making fun of his stiffness and apparent coldness. It was clearly amusing to her to try and find what button she should push to get a reaction out of him. Tonight he had been careless, he’d almost got completely lost in the sensation of having her close. He couldn’t let it happen again, no matter how much it bothered her. His mission took priority. He had to remember that.

And as if the night wasn’t bad enough already, he was all out of cigarettes.

He was looking for a trash can nearby when the joint’s door burst open and a loud argument reached his ear.

“Leave me alone, Brady!”

Castiel reacted right away. If Meg had sounded angry at him before, now she was downright furious.

“Come on, sweetheart, you can’t just leave!” a man was saying. When Castiel approached, he saw the back of Brady’s head. He was standing in front of Meg, blocking her way out and refusing to step aside.

“Who the hell do you think you are to tell why I can and can’t do? Now, scram,” Meg replied. In one quick movement, she managed to get passed Brady, but the man wasn’t getting the message: he stretched his hand and latched it onto Meg’s forearm. “Let go off me!”

“Don’t be like that!” he said, crowding her. “Please, just a kiss…”

“Hey,” Castiel intervened, putting a hand on Brady’s shoulder. “She told you to leave her.”

Brady huffed and turned to look at Castiel.

“Friend, this is none of your business,” he told him, arrogantly.

“I am not your friend,” Castiel groaned, menacingly. “And if you’re bothering Miss Masters, then it is my business.”

The two men stared at each other for a long moment. Castiel almost wished Brady would do something stupid, just to have someone to wreak his frustration on.

And Brady complied.

His fist flew straight to Castiel’s face, but the former soldier caught him by the wrist with no effort. He twisted his arm until Brady let out a pained yelp and then pushed him away. Brady stumbled backwards and fell on his ass on the pavement.

“You alright?” Castiel asked Meg.

“Yeah… watch out!”

Brady had got up rather fast and was launching himself at Castiel. He couldn’t avoid the initial impact, but once Brady had him cornered against the wall, he began dodging his punches, waiting for the moment to make his move.

Which came a moment later when Meg threw her purse at Brady’s head and hit him square on the ear.

The makeshift projectile probably didn’t hurt him much, but it distracted him enough for Castiel to thrust his knee against his stomach. He thought he hear something crack, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel sorry about it. Brady fell on the floor once more, moaning with his hands over his stomach, and this time, he didn’t get up.

Castiel dusted off his suit before leaning to pick up something from the floor.

“Your purse, Miss Masters,” he said, extending it towards her.

Meg stared at it like it was some sort of strange animal, then she let out a chuckle.

“Why, thank you, Novak,” she said, grabbing it. Then she stood by Castiel’s side and lassoed her arm around his. “I think you were right earlier. It’s time you take me home.”

 

* * *

 

“Well at least you can’t say you didn’t have fun tonight,” Meg was laughing as Castiel escorted her upstairs. He was convinced she could climb them just find on her own, but she had insisted he should help her because ‘ _what if I fall and break my jaw? Then you would’ve beaten someone up for nothing._ ’

“It was an unusual evening, that’s for sure,” Castiel admitted.

Meg had recovered some of her good spirits as they drove back to the mansion, which was strange, because Castiel thought she didn’t like it when he had to get into an actual physical fight to keep men from pestering her. He told her as much.

“I don’t like it when they are naïve boys like Adam who couldn’t hurt a fly if they tried,” Meg clarified. “Brady had it coming.”

Castiel looked down at her forearm to see four finger-shaped bruises. Suddenly, he wished he had hit Brady harder.

“And in any case, you were brilliant, Novak,” she said as they reached the top of the staircase.

“I was just doing my job.”

Meg was still holding onto his arm, and when Castiel tried to release himself, she held on a little tighter. Her face had gone from drunken cheer to a graveness Castiel had never seen on her before.

“I wasn’t joking before,” she told him. “I would have let you. Hell, I’m so plastered I might still… and probably tomorrow too, when I’m sober…”

“Miss Masters…” Castiel began saying. His ears were burning. He had to get out of there before he did something he could regret.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” she asked, taking a step closer to him. “Fine.”

She stood on the tip of her toes, her lips barely inches apart from his.

And Castiel couldn’t find it in him to stop her.

All the air escaped his lungs when she finally kissed him. Her mouth was as soft and voluptuous as he had imagined. Castiel closed his eyes, just like he’d done on the dance floor, trying to take it all in: her hot breath on his face, her hand sliding inside his jacket. His good judgment had completely flown out of the window, and next thing he knew, he was grabbing Meg by the waist and spinning around with her until he got her up against the wall. He ran his finger through her smooth hair, cherishing every breath and small whimper than she let out.

Because this wasn’t going to happen again. And he wasn’t going to let this go any further. He couldn’t let it go any further.

He broke away and opened his eyes. Meg still had hers closed, her lips parted like she expected another kiss, but Castiel took a step backwards. He really needed to regain control of himself.

“G-Good night, miss,” he stammered, and took his leave as fast as she could.

“Novak,” she called after him, but he was already halfway down the stairs. “Novak!” she called again when he already had a hand on the doorknob. “Castiel!”

Castiel slammed the door shut in his wake and stopped to breath in deep gulps of air. Hearing his name on her lips had been almost too much to handle.


	5. Chapter 5

“I really don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep this up.”

Both Dean and Benny looked at Castiel like he’d just said the sky was green and the grass was blue.

“What are you talking about, brotha?” Benny was the first to recover his speech. “You’re doing an excellent job. From what I gather, the miss keeps praising you to the heavens.”

“Yeah, Lucifer may start actually trusting you one of these days,” Dean said. “Maybe you’ll be the first to graduate to an important spot around here and actually get us something useful.”

Castiel sighed and just emptied his glass. He couldn’t explain it to them.

He couldn’t explain why his eyes kept gravitating towards Meg every time they were in a room together, like she possessed some kind of magnetic pull he couldn’t resist. He couldn’t explain the way her singing voice sent shivers down her spine and made him tremble all over. He couldn’t explain that he craved her lips and her hands ever since the night he’d made the mistake of kissing her.

The morning (well, the afternoon) following that night had been rocky, to call it something.

“Oh, that’s how you wanna play it?” Meg had snapped at him when he’d greeted her with his usual distant demeanor.

“I don’t know what you mean, Miss Masters,” he’d answered. He was looking at some point over her shoulder, because looking at her directly would make all his good intentions and resolutions go straight to hell.

Meg had looked at him with rage in her eyes that Castiel thought she was going to throw her cup of coffee at him, like she had thrown her purse at Brady the night before.

“You want to pretend it never happened?” she’d said, standing up with her silky robe flapping around her. “Fine. It never happened.”

He resisted the impulse of touching her when she passed him by, but he did call her:

“Miss Masters…”

She’d ignored him ostensibly and started climbing the stairs.

“Miss Masters,” he’d tried again. “Meg…”

She’d stopped. For a moment, it’d seemed like she was going to keep going without another word, but in the end she’d turned around. Her expression was unreadable.

“What?”

“Last night, I… I acted inappropriately,” he’d said. He’d rehearsed that apology in the bathroom mirror before leaving the miserable apartment the Bureau had provided him with while he worked in that city, but now that he was saying it out loud, his words sounded pathetically hollow. “I had a lot to drink and my judgment was impaired. I apologize, and I assure you, it won’t happen again.”

Meg had scoffed.

“You think that’s why I’m mad at you, you silly little man?” she’d asked.

She’d disappeared inside her room. When she’d come down, she was the same as usual: haughty, arrogant and bossy. She’d told Castiel where he was supposed to take her that day, and that was the last she’d spoken to him all day.

For several days now, in fact. Meg didn’t talk to him except to order him around, and the rest of the time, she would ignore him like he was nothing but another ornament in her overcrowded living room. Apparently, she’d given Cassie instructions to do the same thing, because the maid had begun communicating with Castiel through a series of groans and huffs. It almost made him miss their previous teasing.

But despite her cold shoulder, Meg had put on a good word for him. A couple of days after the party, he was guarding Meg’s dressing room door as usual when Lucifer had called him to his private booth.

“What does he want?” Castiel had asked, paling before the perspective that he’d found out he was disrespecting his fiancée and would have him kicked out of the speakeasy. Or worse.

Benny had shrugged. “You better hurry, brotha. You know he ain’t got no patience for waiting. I’ll keep an eye here.”

So Castiel had gone and stood with his back perfectly straight.

“You needed me, sir?”

“Ah, Castiel!” Azazel had said before Lucifer could even open his mouth. “Just the man we wanted to see. Have a seat.”

“I’d rather…”

“Sit, Novak,” Lucifer had groaned. It didn’t really sound like an invitation. As soon as Castiel obeyed, the gangster had cut to the chase: “We found out about the little incident the other night.”

Castiel swallowed so loudly he was pretty sure the two men were able to hear him. He tried eyeing in Dean’s direction to plea for help, but the bartender was too busy… well, bartending.

“How could we not?” Azazel had said, angry. “With what that scum did to my little dove…”

“I asked her about the bruises in her arm,” Lucifer had clarified. “She said she at least had the good judgment to bring you along, and that you returned them to the poor devil multiplied.”

“I… I was just doing my job, sir,” Castiel had answered, humbly.

There was a pause, and then Lucifer burst out laughing with pure joy.

“I wish I’d been there to see it!” he’d exclaimed, patting Castiel on the back. “You keep that up, Novak. You keep it and there might be wonderful things in your future.”

“Hey, if you don’t think you can deal with the miss anymore, maybe you should just walk right up to him and ask him to give you another job,” Dean suggested.

“Nah, he might take that as an insult to his dame,” Benny said, shaking his head. “I think the best thing you can do is get her to keep vouching for you. And she won’t do that if you just quit on her. And besides, this may not be the best week to do that.”

“Why’s that?”

“He was raging earlier about a delay and broken train tracks,” Benny explained. “My guess is now we’re gonna have to keep an eye on the docks rather than the stations.”

“I really hope you’re right, partner,” Dean said, unbuttoning his vest. “I hate wearing this thing.”

Castiel agreed, although he realized that as soon as they caught Lucifer, then he would probably never see Meg Masters again.

He didn’t know how to feel about that.

 

* * *

 

Meg was eating with particular slowness that morning, chewing every piece of her fruit like it was a matter of life and death, and barely sipping her coffee. Castiel waited in his usual spot, trying not to shift, but it was impossible. After several minutes, he couldn’t help but to glance at the clock.

“Got somewhere else to be, Novak?” Meg lashed out when she caught him.

Right. Of course. He should have known she was teasing him again.

“No, Miss Masters,” he said, trying to contain his irritation. Although it was a relief, in a way, that Meg was finally taunting him again instead of simply pretending he wasn’t there.

“Oh?” Meg asked, arching an eyebrow. “So you’re still my chauffer, then?”

“Bodyguard,” Castiel corrected her out of pure habit. “And yes, I still work with you, miss. I will be for the foreseeable future. If you’d like to change that situation, perhaps you should talk to Mr. Milton about it.”

Meg’s eyes sparked with fury, but her taunting smirk stayed on her face

“Perhaps I would,” she said, mockingly imitating Castiel’s tone.

“You’d be in your right.”

“I bet you would like that,” Meg continued, viciously. “Bet you would enjoy being Luc’s errand boy, doing an actual man’s job, instead of holding my purse and babysitting me, huh?”

“If that’s how you feel about it, miss…” he said, refusing to react to the provocation.

“Why, of course,” Meg rolled her eyes. “Of course you were auditioning to be just another of Luc’s gunslingers and bullies. And here I took you for a good man, Novak.”

“That is not…!” Castiel shouted. Then he took a deep breath to contain his anger and cleared his throat. “If I were to leave your service, Miss Masters, that would not be the reason.”

Meg frowned and leaned back on her chair. She obviously wasn’t expecting that.

“So what you’re saying is you do want to stop working for me, right?” she asked. Castiel didn’t answer. Meg chuckled, although there was bitterness in her tone when she spoke again: “Now I’m curious. What would be that reason, Novak?”

Castiel considered asking the reason for what, but that would only make the conversation go in circles. So he decided to tell the truth. Or as much of the truth as he could anyway.

“I’m sure it has not escaped your notice, Miss Masters,” he said, lowering his eyes and putting his hands behind his back to look as humble as he could. “You’re an attractive and lively woman and I am just… but you are engaged. To my boss no less,” he cleared his throat. He hoped he wouldn’t start stuttering now. “Being around you makes me uncomfortable for reasons it wouldn’t be appropriate to name. And that’s why I’d prefer to… spend less time in your company.”

Meg remained unusually silent for several minutes. When Castiel dared to look up again, she was staring at him with her eyes wide open and her lips parted, like that night where he had left without a second kiss.

“Damn,” she said, finally. “I didn’t expect you to just come out and say it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

Castiel was about to say he was sorry again, but he shut his mouth. That seemed to be the right answer, because Meg tapped her fingers on the table and then stood up.

“Go. Take the day off and come back tonight around nine,” she told him. “We’re going somewhere we shouldn’t.”

 

* * *

 

Castiel had no idea what Meg was up to, but he didn’t dare disobey her orders. He didn’t know what she could tell to Azazel or worse, to Lucifer, if he did. So he spent the day in his tiny apartment with Benny and Dean comparing notes and reaching conclusions that were ultimately dead ends.

“Come on, we know this man’s a scumbag,” Dean said, frustrated. “The system must have a flaw.”

Castiel stared at the wall where they hanged all their notes and photographs and connected them with threads of different colors.

“How does he get the booze inside The Pit without anybody seeing it?” Castiel asked. “Tunnels?”

“Most speakeasies, I’d say it’s likely,” Benny replied. “But you’ve seen this ugly basement; if there’s anything underneath, it’s literal hell.”

“So if he’s not bringing the alcohol from downstairs…”

Dean’s eyes glimmered. “He must be bringing it from upstairs. Yes,” he concluded, snatching the picture of the old abandoned building atop of The Pit. “Here. This is where he stores the juice. Maybe he has a dumb waiter or…”

“Nice try, brotha,” Benny said, shaking his head. “But we’ve searched that place several times. It’s empty except for the dust and the rats.”

Dean looked disappointed, so Benny changed the topic.

“And besides, we still haven’t found his connection,” he added. “We know the smugglers don’t bring him the stuff right away. He keeps it hidden somewhere else, and then he brings it over to The Pit, from where it goes to all the other speakeasies that has dealing with him. If we find that out, we find how the system works.”

“In other words, more weeks of chasing our tails and bumping our skulls,” Dean groaned and threw the picture to the floor. “Berries.”

Castiel diligently put the picture back up on the wall.

“We’re bound to catch a break sooner or later,” Castiel said to console them. He glanced at the clock. It was eight o’clock already. “I must go now. Meg will be waiting for me.”

“Wait, you’re going out with her tonight? Again?” Dean asked.

“Well, I’m still her bodyguard, so strictly speaking, she’s going out and bringing me along,” Castiel said. His partners exchanged a preoccupied look that wasn’t lost on Castiel. “You were the one who told me to get close to her.”

“I meant to get all up in her business, not to become her new best friend,” Benny clarified. “Don’t get attached to this moll, Castiel. That could bring along a whole new set of problems for us.”

“I won’t,” Castiel said. “But she’s a valuable source of information. She knew The Pit before it was Lucifer’s. All I need to do is get her to trust me.”

Dean huffed. “You know for someone who works undercover, you’re really terrible at lying.”

 

* * *

 

Meg tapped the car’s window, and at first, Castiel didn’t recognize her, so he shooed her away. She tapped again, and Castiel did a double take. Instead of her usual dresses and make up, Meg was wearing a male suit complete with suspenders and a fedora to hide her long hair. Nobody that wasn’t looking closely would take her for anything but a young man, if with delicate features.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Castiel asked, confused, as she got in the passenger seat with him.

“We’re going somewhere where it would be strange for a lady to visit, not to say outrageous,” Meg explained. “But nobody’s going to notice two gentlemen out for the night.”

“I don’t like how that sounds.”

“Drive, Novak,” Meg ordered with a groan.

So Castiel started the car. They drove for about an hour across the city, until they reached out a house almost in the skirts of town. Meg stared outside the window, every now and then giving him instructions about where to turn, but other than that she didn’t say anything else until they parked in front of a three story house with boarded up windows, not unlike the one atop of The Pit. She took a deep breathe, like she was mentally preparing herself for something very hard.

“What I’m going to show you, you can’t tell anybody,” she said. “Not even my father. Promise me, Castiel.”

“You have my word, Miss Masters,” he said. And he really hoped he could keep it.

They got out of the car and Meg lead him to the door. She knocked twice, then waited a few seconds, and knocked four times more. A slit appeared, and a pair of dark eyes looked at them up and down. Then the slit closed, and the door cracked open.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” a black doorman greeted them as they stepped into a dimly-lit lobby. They could hear the rumors of conversation, music and laughter coming from the upper floor. “May I take your coats and your hats?”

Meg shook her head.

“That’s alright, thank you,” Castiel said. The doorman wasn’t fazed by this unusual impoliteness.

“Enjoy your night at The Golden Swan,” he said, pointing at the staircase.

Meg took the lead once again. She climbed the creaky steps with the confidence of someone who knows exactly which way to go. They ended up in great hall, where the conversations and the music became louder. There were large tables where men were playing cards or roulette and smaller tables with swan themed centerpieces, tended by scantily-dressed young women. Their dresses were even shorter than the ones Meg wore, barely covering up their asses that seemed to be constantly slapped and pinched by the patrons. Instead of getting defensive, the girls giggled and sometimes sat on their laps to give them a kiss, even when the man was obviously old enough to be their grandfather.

“What kind of place is this?” Castiel asked, scandalized.

“Make an educated guess,” Meg said.

She guided towards a table in the corner where they wouldn’t be disturbed, and instantly a girl approached them and leaned more than it was necessary to pick up the used glasses, offering them a generous peak at her cleavage.

“Out for the night, boys?” she asked them. “I’ll give you a special prize, two for one.”

“Just drinks for now, sweetie,” Meg said, making her voice sound rougher and deeper. “But come back later, maybe we’ll be in the mood.”

The girl offered them a seductive smile that was also a promise and left. Somewhere at their right there was a roar when another woman climbed the stage and began dancing slowly and seductively as she systematically took more and more items of clothing.

“Meg, why would you bring me to such a place?” Castiel asked, uncomfortably shifting in his seat.

“We’re here to see someone,” Meg shrugged. “Oh, don’t make that face. You work for a gangster’s girlfriend, for crying out loud.”

“It’s different,” Castiel groaned. “You don’t sing in a den of iniquity. You’re not… this.”

The girl returned with their drinks and make sure to walk past Castiel very close. She looked almost disappointed when he didn’t reach out to touch her in any way.

Meg downed her drink. “For what my engagement’s worth, I might as well be.”

She didn’t add anything else and ignored Castiel’s questions as she attentively scanned the crowd, looking for someone.

“Ah, there she is,” she finally pointed at one of the larger tables where several men were losing their shirts. “The proud owner of this establishment, Lilith Swan.”

Lilith. Castiel remembered the conversation he’d had with Benny at The Pit. Lilith was Lucifer’s mistress.

Unlike the rest of the women, Lilith was wearing a long night dress. It sparkled golden under the lights, and its elegance was enhanced by the white feather boa she had around her naked shoulders and arms. She was laughing out loud, shaking her curly, blonde hair and slapping the hands of whoever tried to give her the same treatment that they gave her employees.

Meg lit a cigarette and took a long drag.

“Before she took over, this place was a whorehouse,” she told Castiel. “Now it’s a whorehouse _and_ a gambling house. Nobody can say she ain’t got no ambition. Ah, and there _he_ is.”

A blonde man had just walked up the table, and was putting a possessive arm around Lilith’s waist. Even at that distance, Castiel immediately recognized Lucifer.

“He thinks I don’t know,” Meg said, bitterly, as Lilith turned around to kiss Lucifer in the mouth. “He’s an idiot. A woman always knows.”

“Why don’t you tell your father?” Castiel asked. “I’m sure he would not stand for this.”

“What good would that make?” Meg said. “Last time someone in my family told Lucifer no, he ended up in an alleyway with six bullet holes in the chest.”

“Your brother,” Castiel guessed.

“Yes. Tom wanted to go legit, you know?” Meg told him, with a sad smile. “He didn’t want The Pit to be used as a selling point. He was doing well enough that he could afford not to make business with Lucifer. So Lucifer cleared him out.”

“And you still agreed to marry him?” Castiel asked, with his blood boiling in his veins.

“Well, it’s not like Luc walked into my house, put the gun he used to kill my brother on the table and asked me out on a date,” Meg said, with a wince. “He came to my father with a business proposal, and my father said yes. I started seeing Luc more and more around The Pit. I was grieving Tom, and was a stupid and starry-eyed kid, so when Luc started paying attention to me, I didn’t think it was because he wanted to make sure he’d inherit daddy’s business. I didn’t start connecting the dots until after he gave me the ring.”

Castiel calculated Meg must have been barely eighteen when her brother died, and the fact that only four years later she was talking about herself back then as a “stupid kid” made something in his chest ache. Without thinking about it, he extended a hand and put it over Meg’s on the table. He wanted to offer her support, consolation, anything she needed. Meg looked at him with her eyes glimmering and a bitter smile.

On the other side of the room, Lilith was leaning over the table to make her bet, her ass purposefully grinding against Lucifer’s crotch.

“Let’s get out of here,” Meg said. “I’m suffocating.”

Castiel followed her towards the staircase, where he stopped all of the sudden. Something had caught his eyes and for a moment, between the screaming crowd and the smoke floating in the air. A red rose. A red rose in the lapel of a bearded man making his way towards the roulette table where Lucifer and Lilith kept hugging and kissing each other.

“Castiel,” Meg called.

He snapped back to reality, and followed her outside.


	6. Chapter 6

Once in the car, Meg took off her hat and ripped off her hair net. Her locks were freed, falling messily over her shoulders. Castiel had to grasp the wheel very tight to resist the impulse of running his fingers through it to comb it.

“How did you find out about this?” he asked instead.

“It was one of those nobody knows, but everyone knows situations,” Meg chuckled humorlessly. “I had to flirt, threaten and pay until one of Luc’s goons gave me this address. It’s amazing the things you discover when you bark up at the right tree.”

Castiel had to bite his tongue not to laugh. There she was; that amazing woman who had singlehandedly uncovered her fiancé’s affair, while three professional investigators from the Bureau of Prohibition had been hitting their heads against the walls for months without coming up with a single solid lead. Maybe they ought to hire Meg.

“You know what the worst part is?” Meg asked. “That I really loved the bastard. I knew what he was – what he is – but still…” Her voice trailed off. She remained quiet for a second, and then she added: “You still want to tell me my engagement is a reason not to sleep with me?”

Castiel stopped the car. He had the feeling he needed to look Meg in the eye for this conversation.

“Meg,” he began. “We can’t.”

Meg pursed her lips, like a little girl who’d just been told she couldn’t have her favorite sweet.

“Why the hell not?” she asked. “I want this. You want it, you’ve told me as much…”

“I don’t want to be your revenge on Lucifer,” he told her.

“You think that’s what this is?” Meg said, raising an eyebrow as always when she was irritated. “Castiel, I could have slept with twenty different men since I found out about Lilith. If I haven’t returned Luc the favor, believe me, it wasn’t because of a lack of opportunity…”

Castiel tried not to think about what that meant. He cupped her cheek with his hand. Strangely, that gesture seemed to relax her because she took a deep breath and immediately stopped talking.

“It’s too dangerous,” he continued. “Meg, I am on the edge of falling in love with you. And I’m afraid that if he ever finds out about this, he’ll hurt you, like he hurt your brother, like you fear he might hurt your father. Because that’s the reason you stay with him, isn’t it?”

Meg blinked a couple of times, like it was too hard to keep looking at Castiel’s face directly.

“Imagine how you would feel if any harm comes to your dad because you crossed Lucifer,” Castiel said. “And imagine how I would feel if something, anything, happened to you… because of me. Because I couldn’t stay away.”

Words failed him. His hands were trembling when he let go of Meg’s face, but she caught the right one and kept her close to her.

“You’re too good,” she muttered, frustrated. “Dammit, you’re too good for me.”

Her thumb was drawing circles in the back of Castiel’s hand, and just when he was about to say they should keep moving, she turned it around and kissed his wrist, right where he knew she could feel his pounding heart.

“Let me worry about Lucifer,” she whispered, delicately placing a hand in the back of Castiel’s head. “Let me worry about him. Just… come here, Cas. Please.”

Castiel tried to resist it. He really did. But he had fighting and denying for so long, and Meg was right there, pleading with him, when he was certain she’d never had to ask for anything in her life before, and he had never wanted anything in his life with more intensity than he wanted to kiss her right now.

He leaned over and crashed his lips against hers.

He hadn’t had a drop of booze that night, yet now he felt lightheaded and euphoric. Meg pulled him closer to deepen the kiss, to explore his mouth with her tongue and let her fingers roam sink into the skin of his neck. Castiel moaned against her mouth and moved closer, because event the space between the seats was too much for him now he’d finally gave in.

Meg seemed to be thinking the same thing, because in one movement, she jumped to the backseat and took her jacket off. Castiel followed her immediately. The space in the backseat of the car was confining, but at least they were side by side now. Castiel kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips, her neck, her shoulders. He simply couldn’t get enough of her skin.

Meg let out a whimper of pleasure, and leaned back in the backseat, so now Castiel was on top of her, their bodies as close as the could be when there was still so much clothing on the way. She seemed determined to solve that, because she ripped Castiel’s jacket from his shoulder and pulled both his shirt and his undershirt open. Castiel was sure he saw several buttons flying around, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He had undone Meg’s shirt to discover she wasn’t wearing a camisole underneath it, and now her breast were exposed for him to admire. He lowered his mouth and started sucking and nibbling her nipples. He was rewarded by Meg moaning his name so loud he was certain everyone in that deserted street had heard it.

A glimpse of reality and sanity made his way back into his brain – what they were doing was completely indecent, they couldn’t keep going, they had to stop right there – but it was immediately suffocated by Meg’s hands roaming inside his pants and caressing his hardening cock. No woman had ever touched him with such abandonment, with such eagerness. He opened his eyes in surprise to see Meg’s face contorted in ecstasy.

“Cas…” she breathed. “I want this. Please, I want you so much…”

Castiel’s hesitation went up in smoke. He pulled Meg’s trousers down and barely stopped to notice she wasn’t wearing any briefs either. He slid inside of her with a groan, and Meg lifted her hips to get him to go deeper still. He felt her whole body vibrating in his arms, the words and whispers falling from her mouth becoming more and more incoherent. He didn’t have much room to move, but he still manage a few thrusts before Meg grabbed his face so he would look up at her and shook her head, too out of breath to speak.

Castiel immediately sat backwards, but before he could ask what went wrong, Meg straddled his lap and then he was inside of her again, only this time it was her who was moving against him, setting the rhythm. Castiel held her tight against him and continued his endeavor to kiss, lick or bite every inch of her he could reach. He could feel the tension building up in his stomach, and he wanted to tell her he was so close, that he needed…

Meg cried out, her mouth forming a perfect O. Her hair was damped and messy and she was shaking against Castiel, but obviously willing to go on until he had finished.

She didn’t have to. Watching her coming undone like that had to be the most erotic, beautiful thing Castiel had ever seen. He hid his face in the crook of her neck while he came, his finger sinking in her back as she kissed her temple and mumble his name over and over.

_Well_ , Castiel thought as he slowly came down from his orgasm. _There’s no turning back now_.

 

* * *

 

They dressed again hastily and shared a cigarette while Castiel drove Meg back home. They didn’t say a word, because a part of them was sure there was nothing left to say. Castiel glanced at Meg, looking for any signs of regret or shame, but all he found was a peaceful smile. She looked happy. Satisfied.

“We have to find a place where to meet,” she said when he stopped the car in the garage. “It can’t be here. Or at The Pit. That’d be too risky.”

“Meg…”

“Don’t even try to tell me this shouldn’t happen again,” Meg cut him off, irritated. “You want it to happen again. I want it to happen again. End of discussion.”

Castiel couldn’t help the chuckle.

“I was going to say I have never met a woman as direct as you,” he clarified.

“Oh,” Meg said and laughed too. “Well, we’d been tiptoeing around it way too long, don’t you think?”

Castiel grabbed her hand and kissed her palm.

“It can’t be my apartment either,” he said. “I have nosy neighbors.”

“We’ll figure something out,” she smiled.

“Yes.”

Meg reached for the handle and opened the door. Then, like she’d just remembered something important, he turned around to kiss Castiel once again.

“Goodnight,” she muttered.

Castiel left the garage and crossed the garden. He stopped next to the gates to smoke another cigarette and looked up at the mansion until he saw Meg’s window lighting up. He could still feel the ghost touch of her skin in his fingertips, her perfume invading his brain.

He decided to walk back to his apartment. He had a lot to think about and the cool air of the night had always been good to help him put his ideas in order. The further he got from Meg’s place, the more his thoughts were invaded by the image of a red rose hanging from a lapel.

He finally arrived to his building at dawn, with the strange, gray coloration that announced a cloudy day bathing everything. Castiel climbed tiptoed upstairs, but they heard him anyway.

“Cas?” Dean called, appearing on his doorway in his undershirt. “Where the hell have you been?”

The answer to that question was long and complicated, so Castiel simply opened the door to his apartment.

“Come here,” he told Dean. “I’ve got new information about the case.”

“Alright,” Dean rubbed his face. “Let me make some coffee.”

By the time Dean crossed the hall with two cups of smoking hot black coffee, Castiel had already spread several pictures and notes on his desk.

“Him,” he said, pointing at a photograph of a bearded man. His hat covered part of his face and the flower in his lapel looked grey, but Castiel could perfectly imagine it in color.

“Fergus Crowley,” Dean said. “Yeah, he’s another scumbag we don’t have enough proof to touch. He’s a sixpenny rum-runner, which compared to Lucifer, it’s like saying he’s a legit businessman.”

“I saw him tonight,” Castiel said, standing up to pin Crowley’s picture to the evidence wall. “He was at The Golden Swan.”

“What?” Dean asked, blinking in confusion. “How the hell did you end up in a place like that?”

Castiel glanced at his partner. “I was following a lead. Investigating Lucifer,” he lied.

“Right, yeah, of course,” Dean cleared his throat. “Totally the same reason I’ve been there.”

There was an awkward pause, and then Castiel grabbed the red thread they used to connect the leads.

“The Golden Swan is owned by Lilith, Lucifer’s mistress,” he said. “And if Crowley has business with her…”

“It means he has business with Lucifer,” Dean completed the reasoning. “You think that’s the connection? Crowley brings the juice to Lilith and she keeps it hidden until Lucifer moves it?”

“It’s worth taking a look at,” Castiel nodded.

“More than worth it! Cas, this might be the break we’ve been looking for,” Dean said, his eyes shining with enthusiasm. “I’m gonna call Benny and Sam up and I don’t care if I get earful for waking them up. They need to see this.”

Sam was Dean’s brother, and their team contact in the DA’s office. Castiel smiled at Dean’s sudden burst of energy, but before his partner could exit the room, he had another thing to ask him.

“Dean,” he called him. “If you had a… friend. A lady friend. And you wanted to take her somewhere… discreet, where would you…?”

He didn’t finish the question. Dean was looking at him with a crooked eyebrow and a certain surprise in his face. It was understandable: unlike Dean, Castiel wasn’t prone to bragging about his conquests.

“This… lady friend of yours,” he said. “Is she Meg?”

Castiel opened his mouth then closed it again, and that was all the answer Dean needed.

“You know what? I changed my mind, don’t tell me,” Dean said. He ripped a page from one of their notebooks and scribbled something down. “I just really hope you know what you’re doing, Cas.”

“I hope the same thing,” Castiel sighed.

 

* * *

 

As it was usual on the nights Meg performed, The Pit seemed more crowded and hotter. Castiel stood outside Meg’s dressing room and diligently glared away all the admirers that wanted to speak to Meg before her act until she called him.

“Novak,” she said, with her usual dry tone. “I need you in here.”

Castiel crossed the door and closed it behind him.

He was almost knocked out of his feet by Meg jumping into his arms and crashing his mouth against him. Castiel sighed and held her tight, sliding a hand inside the unbuttoned dress to caress her back.

“Meg,” he said, after she broke away to breathe again. “This is too dangerous. Someone could walk in.”

“I don’t care,” she replied, and tried to kiss him again, but Castiel put a hand on her shoulder and shook his head.

“Well, I do,” he said.

The last few days had been incredibly frustrating. Except for a few stolen kisses here and there, they hadn’t had the chance to actually be together, to touch each other the way they wanted, to explore their bodies like they had done that night after leaving The Golden Swan. Meg had suggested they parked the car somewhere, but Castiel had argued that was fine for late nights and deserted streets but they couldn’t do it in broad daylight. Cassie knew all about them (of course, how could she not?) but even with her help it was too risky for Castiel to stay over at the Masters Mansion. Azazel could arrive at any moment and Castiel was not at all eager to find out what happened when the smiling gangster stopped smiling.

“Turn around.”

“You changed your mind?” Meg teased him.

Castiel chuckled, but instead of pulling the dress down (which, if he was honest with himself, was what he really wanted to do), he zipped it up and kissed Meg’s exposed shoulder.

“I found the place Dean told me about,” he said. “Rented a room. We can go there whenever we want.”

Meg looked at him with eyes wide open, like she had deep down been expected him to back down and couldn’t believe he’d actually go through with it.

“Are you sure it’s safe?”

“As safe as it can be,” Castiel said. He still felt shivers down his spine when he remembered the stern look Ellen Harvelle, the owner, had thrown in his direction.

“Listen, boy, I don’t care who you are,” she’d told him. “I don’t care who you bring in here, and I don’t care what you do. As long and you don’t stink up the place, break anything or disturb the other guests, we’re going to get along just fine. Are we clear?”

“Crystal clear,” Castiel had nodded, and proceeded to pay the room in advance.

“Cas…” Meg said.

“You should go,” Castiel interrupted her. “I’ll leave the key and the adress in your boudoir, alright? You’ll let me know when you want to meet there.”

“Fine,” Meg said. She stood up on her toes and pecked Castiel on the cheek before running towards the stage.

Castiel opened a drawer and hid an envelope between all Meg’s brushes and make-up. Before leaving the dressing room, he took a look at the mirror and realized he had a red stain in his cheek. If it was up to him, he would have left the mark of Meg’s lips right there, but since Meg was apparently not willing to be careful, he had to be for the both of them.

Once his face was clean, he walked into the speakeasy and made his way to the counter. Meg was already hallway through her first song, and when he passed by the stage, she winked at him. The playful gesture could have been for the audience in general, but Castiel knew better, and a smile appeared on his face. He had just sat down on his favorite stool when Benny touched his arm.

“Mr. Milton wants to see you.”

“Did he say why?”

Benny glanced at him, and Castiel wondered if Dean had told him.

“Since when does he have to?” the bouncer shrugged.

So Castiel walked up to Lucifer’s table. Strangely, he didn’t feel as nervous as he’d had in other occasions. Maybe it was the fact he’d remembered the brokenhearted expression in Meg’s face while her fiancé petted another woman, and had come to the conclusion that a man like that didn’t deserve any respect, much less any fear.

“Ah, Novak,” Lucifer was fumbling around with a deck of cards and oddly, he wasn’t accompanied by Azazel. “Sit. Do you play?”

“Rarely and badly, sir,” Castiel answered.

Lucifer sighed. “Guess it’s going to be another solitary night for me,” he said. He looked at the stage, where Meg was shaking her hips and as always, enchanting everyone looking at her. “You took your time to get out of the dressing room.”

“Yes,” Castiel admitted. “I thought I saw the curtain move, but there was nobody there.”

Lucifer seemed to like his answers.

“That’s good. You should always be vigilant. No peeping tom should ever be allowed anywhere my girl,” he added. Meg kept singing, her deep, seductive voice floating in the heated air of the speakeasy. “I hate that she struts there every other night, but she says that’s where she likes to be. Can you believe that, Novak?”

“She does seem to enjoy herself, sir,” Castiel asked, although that was a serious understatement. When Meg took the stage, there was no doubt in his mind that she was exactly where she belonged.

“No matter. Once we’re married, this nonsense’s going to stop,” Lucifer continued, with a disdainful look at the me who cheered his fiancée on. “Look at her. She’s a thing of beauty, isn’t she? And when she’s all mine, no one else will be allowed to even glance in her direction.”

Castiel was looking at her. Ever since the moment they met, he hadn’t really been able to do anything else. When Meg leaned against the piano and threw a kiss at the crowd, he smiled. Lucifer was wrong. She was playing him just like he had played her, and she would never be his.

She would never be Castiel’s either, for that matter. Meg belonged irrevocably, unequivocally, to herself and herself alone.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.


	7. Chapter 7

When Castiel arrived to the Roadhouse Hotel, the blonde girl at the counter informed him his room was empty and there was no one waiting for him, but he was welcomed to sit at the bar and have something (a coffee, maybe, or a glass of water) while he waited for the other person to arrive. Castiel did exactly that, throwing nervous looks at his watch every ten or fifteen seconds.

Meg was late.

All the worst case scenarios started running through his head. Maybe Azazel or even worse, Lucifer, had arrived at the mansion by surprise, even though Meg was certain they would be working all night that night. Maybe she couldn’t find the place (had he given her the right direction? He was certain he had, but what if he was wrong?) or a way to get there. Maybe she had simply changed her mind about the whole ordeal, maybe she figured it was too risky and…

A blonde woman with a little hat and a veil covering her face entered the hotel lobby and climbed the stairs without looking at either side.

Castiel wouldn’t have noticed her if he hadn’t been watching the door obsessively, but there was something about the way she walked, about the confidence in her steps…

He paid for the coffee and followed her. The door of the room he had rented was barely cracked open, and a voice he knew all too well was humming a melody inside. He walked in to see Meg sitting in front the desk and the only mirror in the room. The little hat and the wig rested in front of her.

She saw him and smiled, without stopping her humming. Castiel locked the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

They met in that little room twice, sometimes three times a week if they were lucky. Meg consistently wore the wig, assuring him it was the best option that Mrs. Harvelle or her daughter always saw the same woman, so they could be absolutely certain she wasn’t a brunette. Castiel was glad she at least was taking some precaution in that aspect, because any other time, she was absolutely decided to cause some sort of scandal or traffic accident.

“Meg,” he said when she leaned over from the passenger seat to caress his leg or started nibbling his ear. “Meg, please, you’re distracting me.”

“Oh, no, I’m distracting the driver,” Meg said, imitating a tone of concern. “That is so bad. I guess you’ll have to do something about it.”

Castiel sighed deeply and tried to ignore her teasing and laughter.

“We seriously can’t be doing this right now,” he would say when Meg called him into her dressing room to kiss him before her act. She grinned, knowing full well he wasn’t going to do a thing to stop her.

And she was right. He was weak under her touch, he melted with her kisses. He was like a thirsty man who could never get enough to drink, and she tortured him with every wink and every flirt that went unnoticed for the rest of the world, but that meant so much to him. Because he wanted to scream he loved her at the top of his lungs, but he had to conform to whispering it in her ear when they were alone and no one else could hear them.

Even then she never whispered it back.

But between the pale walls of their room at the Roadhouse, she would let him do the teasing and curse him when he took what she considered too long to undress her, too much time exploring her skin with his fingertips. It was Castiel’s turn to smile at her desperation and her need for more. He kept tracing a trail of kisses from her neck all the way down to her navel, because he knew that no matter how much she insulted him, she actually liked it.

“Why you never kiss me here?” she asked one time, obscenely pointing a finger between her legs.

Castiel was shocked and for a moment he couldn’t reply.

“I, uh… wouldn’t that be… uncomfortable for you?” he asked, frowning.

“I’ve asked around,” Meg shrugged. “Apparently, it feels really good.”

Castiel shifted uncomfortable on the bed, but there were very little things in this world he could deny Meg.

“We could… try, I guess,” he told her.

That was the only time Mrs. Harvelle had scolded him for disturbing her other guests. Afterwards, that “special kiss” became part of their foreplay.

That was another thing that always kept Castiel on his toes: how Meg was never ashamed or coy about asking what she wanted, about telling him he was going too fast or too slow. Of course, he didn’t expect her to be a blushing virgin, but her knowledge about all things pleasurable never ceased to amaze him.

“I read a lot,” was her answer, accompanied by a little shrug.

Castiel’s skeptic face was more than enough answer.

“What, you think I fool around with every man that comes my way?” she said, putting a hand over her chest in a gesture of fake offense. “You insult me, sir.”

“You must have had a lover before me,” he insisted. “At least one.”

“What difference does it make?” she asked, letting out a puff of smoke from her nose. “Girls are told to stay virgin until they get married, boys are told to have as many wild nights as they want. But if they can’t fuck with girls and they can’t fuck with each other, who are they left to fuck with? Themselves?”

Castiel laughed at Meg’s reasoning, and moved his hand up and down her leg.

“Maybe so,” he said. “But you’re obviously not ashamed about it, so why won’t you tell me?”

Meg didn’t answer. She put off her cigarette with a slightly irritated gesture.

“Was it Lucifer?” he insisted.

Meg’s lips tightened, and just before Castiel was about to change topic, fearing he might have upset her, she said:

“I’m not going to tell you I didn’t sleep with Luc, ‘cause that’d be a lie. But he wasn’t the first.”

Castiel waited. Clearly, Meg wanted to tell him about it, but she had a hard time finding the words.

“His name was Alfie,” she said in the end. “We were childhood friends. He lived near the farm my uncle Alistair used to have and I saw him every summer growing up. He was a three years older than me, and I was always bothering so he would play with me. I would’ve never admitted it, but I liked him. Especially when we got a little older.”

“What happened to him?”

“He was drafted for the war,” Meg replied, with a sad smile. “Can you believe his bad luck? He was barely eighteen. I guess we were scared that we would never see each other again, so we finally came clean about how we felt and, well… I didn’t want him to leave without a strong memory of me.”

She smiled sadly and Castiel nodded, comprehensive.

“He was so sweet. Promised me we he would ask my hand in marriage to my dad once he returned and everything,” Meg continued with a bitter chuckle.

“I imagined he didn’t like that,” Castiel said, picturing what had happened to the boy.

“We never got to ask him,” Meg said, and the smile of her face disappeared. “As luck would have it, Alfie came back in a pine box.”

Castiel felt terrible for asking. He held Meg tight for a long time and then he pretended he didn’t notice her puffy eyes. She would have shouted at him if he had pointed them out, so instead, he offered her a cigarette.

“What about you?” she asked after a while of smoking in silence.

“What about me, what?”

“Your first,” Meg clarified. “I told you about mine, it’s only fair you tell me about yours.”

Castiel took a long drag. He didn’t want to talk about it, but he had brought it upon himself.

“April,” he said.

“Oh, _April_ ,” Meg repeated mockingly. “Was she pretty?”

“Very much so,” Castiel admitted. “She had dark blonde hair and a beautiful laugh. We were neighbors in Pontiac, and we have been a couple for quite some. I figure that was the reason she chose to let me make love to her.”

“Make love to her?” Meg repeated, giggling. “Is that what you nice Catholic boys call it?”

Castiel shut his mouth, offended, and Meg had to kiss him repeatedly and tell him she was sorry before he continued.

“Come on, tell me,” she said. “What happened to April?”

“Well, war came,” Castiel said, only then noticing how similar their stories were. “And just like Alfie promised you, I promised her we would get married when I returned.”

Meg’s smile disappeared.

“Did she…?”

“No, she was alive and well,” Castiel said. “Only she had married someone else: a man who was thirty years older than her and thirty times wealthier than I would ever be.”

“And she didn’t warn you?” Meg asked, rising her eyebrows. “Not even a letter?”

“If she wrote me one, I never received it,” Castiel shrugged. “Later, Michael told me it was for the best that I didn’t find out while we were abroad, because I might have acted recklessly in the battle field. The fact I tried to punch April’s husband in the face might have fueled that impression.”

Meg chuckled and moved closer to Castiel.

“Must have hurt like hell,” she said, with her fingers caressing his cheek.

“Like she’d stabbed me right through the chest,” Castiel said. He grabbed her hand and kissed her palm. “Which only goes to show I have knack for choosing women that are no good for me.”

Meg whimpered, falsely offended.

“Excuse you? I can be very good!”

“Oh, can you?” Castiel teased and moved to kiss her, but Meg held him by the shoulders and kept him in his place.

“Yes,” she purred.

She pushed Castiel so he would lie on his back and straddled him, kicking the sheets aside to show herself all naked and shameless and glorious. Castiel breathing hitched as she steadily lowered herself on his cock. His head was so dizzy that at first he didn’t realize she was singing softly:

_Someday he’ll come along, the man I love_

_And he’ll be big and strong, the man I love…_

It was the same song she sang the first night they met. Castiel wondered if she remembered, but he was too distracted to ask her. Meg was riding him agonizingly slow, meeting the end of every verse with a thrust against him.

_Maybe I shall meet him Sunday_

_Maybe Monday, maybe not…_

Castiel put a hand on her hip to accompany her movements, but she grabbed it and guided him towards her breasts. They were small compared to other women’s, but Castiel never get tired of looking at them, or caressing them, or kissing them. In fact, he sat up so he could start gently nibbling and biting her nipples, until the words falling from Meg’s lips were weaved with a series of little moans and groans.

_And so… all else above…_

The last note was interrupted by Meg’s climax. She threw her head back, her lips parted in ecstasy. Castiel came almost at the same time, with a lazy, warmth orgasm that made every inch of his body shivered. They stayed there, breathing in unison, holding each other so close it was hard to think they would ever let go. After a moment, Meg leaned and finished the song in his ear:

_… I’m waiting for the man I love…_

 

* * *

 

They rarely talked about the future. Sometimes Meg jokingly suggested they should run away to Chicago so she could actually kick-start her singing career, sometimes Castiel speculated that his sister Anna would let them stay with her for some time while they figured things out. But those talks were sporadic and never got too serious. If they were honest with themselves, the future outside the walls of their little room was inexistent, and they knew it. And besides, Castiel was aware they had a sword hanging over their heads.

“Have you ever thought what you would do?” Castiel asked once, when he couldn’t bear the thoughts of indirectly harming her no longer. “If something happened to your father… or to Lucifer…”

“What could possibly happen to them?” Meg asked with a chuckle. “They’re never gonna get caught. The prohis are useless.”

Castiel was lucky she was lying with her back to him, because his eye squint might have been a red flag.

“But have you considered that possibility?” he insisted. “Even remotely?”

There was a long silence, in which Castiel thought she might have fallen sleep. He was about to turn the night lamp off so he too could slumber for a couple of hours when she spoke again.

“I’m not worried,” she said. “I can take care of myself.”

Castiel turned around in the bed and put an arm around her waist.

“And what if I took care of you?” he suggested. Meg finally lifted her head so their eyes would meet.

“Cas, stop talking nonsense,” she replied.

She sounded angry, but there was something in the way she curved her lips, something Castiel had never seen, and it took him an entire minute to identify: fear.

“Meg…”

“I know I talk a lot about running away with you, but that’s all it is,” she said. “Talk. I know I’m going to marry Lucifer one day and I’m going to be a proper lady who stays at home and gives him boys that will be killers like him or girls who will marry killers like him while he goes out at night to romp with that quiff of his. I accepted that a long time ago.”

“So what is this?” Castiel asked, hoping the pain he felt at those words didn’t show in his voice. “What am I to you exactly?”

Meg rolled around to kiss him on the neck.

“You’ll be a memory to keep me warm when bad times come,” she told him. “When I’m all old and rickety and bitter, I’ll look back on these days and know that a good man really did love me. Even if it was for a little while.”

Castiel bit his tongue until he drew blood. Because he really did love her, and he would probably continue loving her for more than just a little while. But he wasn’t what she thought, and was he really a good man if he’d lied to her about what he was? Was he really a good man if he was about to shatter her world without even warning her?

The doubt tormented him for days on end, whenever he gathered with Benny and Dean, whenever he saw Meg singing and dancing on stage at The Pit and she threw a kiss in his direction, whenever he was lying alone in his single bed knowing he had let another day go by without telling her the truth and that tomorrow he would have to do it all over again.

The only time he seemed to be at ease was when he was holding Meg close to his chest late at night in their room at the Roadhouse. That was why he woke up with a jolt the night he felt her getting up and running to the bathroom.

“Meg?” he called her, but before he could follow her, someone knocked on the door.

He froze. That had never happened before. Even if Mrs. Harvelle had something to tell him or wanted to collect her money, she’d always respected his instructions to not bother them. But whoever was at the other side of the door obviously had no intention of leaving, so Castiel put on a shirt and pulled his trousers up as the knocking continued.

“I’m coming!” he groaned.

Mrs. Harvelle’s daughter, who Castiel had come to learnt was called Jo, was standing on the doorway.

“Sorry to disturb you, mister…” she said, with the widest smile.

“I specifically asked…” Castiel began, irritated, but she shoved a paper in his hand before he could go on.

“Urgent message from Mr. Winchester,” Jo said. “Said not to give up until I had given it to you.”

Urgent message. Castiel cowered at what could that mean.

“Alright,” he sighed, trying to hide his commotion. “Thank you.”

But Jo Harvelle didn’t move from her spot.

“Anything else?”

“Mr. Winchester also said you would tip generously for it,” she added.

Castiel grabbed a random bill from his jacket pocket and put it in Jo’s hands without even looking at the amount. As soon as the blonde was on her way, he opened the little paper.

 _Got Crowley_ , it said in the sloppy letter of someone who had been taking notes by the found. _Meet us at the office at 8._

It was happening. Castiel took a couple of deep breaths, then put the paper on the ashtray can and burnt it. Crowley would give them Lucifer. When they took Lucifer down, Azazel would most likely go down with him and The Pit would be closed. Meg’s entire life would be shattered.

And there wasn’t a single thing he could do to stop it.

Meg came out of the bathroom when the last ambers were fading away.

“Who was it?” she asked with a weak voice. She was only wearing her camisole, and she was trembling slightly.

“Wrong room,” Castiel lied and got up to throw his jacket around her shoulders. “Are you alright? You look pale.”

“Yeah, I’m great,” Meg said, with sarcasm. “Except because I just spilled my guts out in there…”

“Do you feel dizzy?” Castiel asked, putting a hand against her sweaty forehead. “Do you have a fever?”

“Shut up, you’re not my mother,” Meg groaned and started picking up her clothes. “It’s probably something I ate. I’m going to go home and let Cassie pamper me.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Castiel offered. He had a million other things he should do before eight, but now he had seen Meg in that state, his concern for her took precedence.

“Too dangerous,” Meg shook her head. “I’ll just take a cab. And you should take the day off, too. I don’t think I’m going anywhere in these conditions.”

Castiel hesitated, but it was obvious Meg wasn’t about to let up.

“Please, let me know if you feel better,” he said, wrapping his arms around her.

“I’ll be fine,” Meg protested. She kissed him on the cheek and touched Castiel’s frown with her fingertips. “So you can stop doing that right now.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t help it,” he sighed.

He looked down at her smile and he wanted to tell her so many things. He wanted to tell her they would probably have to say goodbye soon, that he had a duty to the Bureau, but that in fulfilling it, he’d be betraying her, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. Because he couldn’t imagine his life without her. And this might be the last time he got to see her like that.

Instead, he held her tight and muttered “I love you” against her hair.

“Yes, I know you do,” Meg said. She kissed him again and started picking up her clothes.


	8. Chapter 8

“There you are!” Dean exclaimed when Castiel entered the post office. “You got my message?”

“It was diligently delivered, yes,” Castiel said, rolling his eyes. “How did you get Crowley? I thought the evidence against him was weak.”

Dean smiled and beckoned Castiel to follow him through the door where the post office façade ended and the true face of the Bureau began: desks with men writing down papers and sharing information, several panels with the faces of the Most Wanted Criminals in display and finally, the interrogation room. Benny was standing in front of the door along with a bearded old man and Sam, Dean’s brother.

“Hey, Cas,” the young DA assistant greeted him.

“Always good to see you, Sam.”

“This is my boss, DA Singer,” Sam introduced him.

“Call me Bobby,” the bearded man said. He offered Castiel his hand, and his shake was so hard it almost broke Castiel’s fingers. “I understand congratulations are in order?”

“Sir?”

“You’re the one who found the connection between this lowlife here and Lilith Swan,” Bobby Singer explained, pointing at the window.

Crowley was on the other side, pacing around the room. His suite, that’d looked impeccable in all the pictures Castiel had seen of him, had creases and it looked dirty, like he had slept with it on. Castiel imagined that was the case if they had captured him the night before. The rose in his lapel, the very thing that had helped Castiel identify him, was completely destroyed and there were petals all over the table.

“Yes, I did that,” Castiel admitted.

“Come on, brotha. Take a little pride on your job,” Benny said. “He had to drive around Masters’ brat for weeks on end, the most useless job ever, and he came up with the jackpot.”

Castiel squinted at Benny, but he couldn’t tell him why he didn’t appreciate Meg being called that, so he changed the topic.

“I still don’t understand,” he said. “Have we found evidence to tie Crowley with the smuggling?”

“Ah, that’s the best part,” Dean grinned like a cat about to eat a particularly fat mouse. “We didn’t arrest him for the smuggling. Sammy, here, had a stroke of genius.”

“Turns out, gangsters are not so big in fulfilling their civic duty,” Sam said, smiling proudly. “We are holding him for tax evasion.”

Castiel looked at the Winchester brothers with incredulity painted in his face, and then he burst out laughing.

“Brilliant!”

“I try,” Sam shrugged.

“Yeah, it’s great that we have him here and all,” Benny interrupted the celebration. “But he’s lawyered up and refuses to keep on talking.”

“Since when do these rats have so many rights?” Bobby groaned. “Give me five minutes with him.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Singer?”

“I’ve told you to call me Bobby,” the DA snapped. “And yes, I’m sure, son. I was interrogating sixpenny mobsters like Crowley when you hadn’t even left your daddies’ and mommies’ loins.”

Dean chuckled, amused.

“Have at him, old man.”

Bobby straightened his shoulders and marched inside the interrogation room. The agents and Sam crowded around the window so they could hear the whole thing.

Crowley halted in his place when Bobby walked in.

“Bobby Singer!” he exclaimed in his Scottish accent. “Should’ve known you were behind this nonsense.”

“Fergus,” Bobby said. “How’s Rowena?”

“Don’t ask me about my mother like we’re old friends,” Crowley said, irritated. “As I’ve told the other brute you have out there, I’m not saying another word until my lawyer gets here.”

“That’s okay; your voice ain’t no symphony after all,” Bobby shrugged. “But there’s no law against me speaking and you listening to me.”

He sat down and put his feet up in the table.

“You have a nice life, don’t you, Fergus?” the DA began. “Oh, yeah, I saw the penthouse were you were captured. Crème de la crème, best view of the city. Let me assure you, the view from the window of a cell in a federal prison will be a lot more limited. And boring.”

Crowley huffed, but continued in an obstinate silence.

“But maybe you don’t have to find out what that’s like,” Bobby continued, ignoring Crowley’s apparent indifference. “After all, you’re nothing but a little fish that happened to get caught in the wider net we’re casting, if you catch my drift.”

A pause. The two men in the interrogation room stared unblinkingly at each other, Bobby all calm and despise and Crowley with anger in his eyes.

“I’m not sure insulting Crowley’s ego will be of much use,” Castiel commented.

“Now, let the man work the room,” Sam said. “He’s the best at this.”

“What are you saying?” Crowley asked, in the end.

“He bit,” Dean said, waving his fist in a gesture of triumph.

Bobby leaned a little closer to Crowley.

“Just between you and me and because we’re all friends: there’s another man, bigger than you, that we want to take down,” he said. “And when we take that man down, well, I ain’t gonna say that means all the crime in the city will be gone, because that would mean I’d have to retire. But there is going to be a – what would we call it – a power vacuum left. I can certainly see how a smart businessman like yourself could take advantage of that.”

Crowley said nothing. After a while, Bobby put his feet down and stretched his arms.

“But sadly, you’re going to be locked away when that happens,” he said, standing up. “Well, goodbye, Crowley. I’m sure your lawyer will be here any minute now.”

Bobby took two steps towards the door and his fingers were about to graze the doorknob when Crowley caved in:

“Wait,” he said. “What if I changed my mind about the whole lawyer thing?”

“We’ve got him,” Benny smiled. He wasn’t talking about Crowley.

Half an hour later, Bobby walked out of the room with the draft of a deal under his arm.

“That’s how it’s done,” he said, giving it to Sam so he could write a clean copy. “I hoped you kids learnt a thing or two.”

The only one who didn’t seem happy with the whole ordeal was Castiel, and Bobby noticed.

“Why the long face, son?”

“We’re essentially letting Crowley walk free in order to capture Lucifer,” Castiel pointed out.

“Well, yeah, but Crowley’s the lesser of two evils,” Dean said, shrugging.

“It still feels like we’re trading an evil for another.”

“You can’t win ‘em all, brotha,” Benny said, taking a cigarette out.

“And besides, as my grandmother used to say, the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t know,” Bobby concluded, snatching the cigarette from Benny’s fingers and putting it between his own lips. “If someone has to become the city’s new crime lord, I’d rather it be Crowley. ‘Cause him I know how to deal with.”

“It is what it is, Cas,” Sam added. “You know how this job is done.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Castiel groaned.

The others shrugged and continued, but Castiel stayed to watch Crowley through the window of the interrogation room. Dean found him there five minutes later when he was bringing a coffee for the smuggler.

“Look, man, you can’t be getting all morally uptight about this,” he told him, correctly guessing what his partner was thinking. “Not when you’re the one who’s sleeping with a Lucifer’s moll.”

Castiel stiffened and turned to look at Dean.

“Do they know?” he asked, concerned.

“Benny suspects,” Dean said. “But I’ve done a good job at covering your ass. I only hope that when push comes to shove, you can cover my mine.”

“Of course,” Castiel nodded.

They remained there, watching Crowley resume his pacing around.

“Boy, that’s going to be one awkward conversation,” Dean chuckled.

“Which one?”

“The one you gotta have with Meg now,” Dean clarified. “You have to break up with her before this whole thing blows up.”

Castiel’s shoulders sank. He knew it was coming, but it still wasn’t any easier to hear from the mouth of his best friend.

“What if I don’t want to?” he asked, in a whisper.

“Cas, don’t be stupid,” Dean said. “It was a mistake for you to get involved with her in the first place. We’ve all made some; I don’t blame you, God knows I have got dizzy with dames I should’ve wanted nothing to do with. But what I’m trying to say is: you have to end it now.”

“We’re on the brink of catching Lucifer,” Castiel pointed out. “She’ll be free of her compromise…”

“Her father’s going to jail too, and what do you think it’s gonna happen then?” Dean reminded him. “I’m guessing is not going to be jumping right in the arms of the guy who put him there.”

Castiel stayed in silence for a long while, biting his tongue once more. He knew Dean was right, but he refused to admit it. He refused to accept it was all over for Meg and him now. So instead of answering, he stood there with his hands in his pocket and his jaw tightly clenched until Dean understood he wasn’t going to say a word.

“Friendly advice,” he said. “End it now, while you can still part friends. You don’t want to be cleaning up the mess afterwards.”

He entered the interrogation room, leaving Castiel alone with his thoughts.

 

* * *

 

The Masters’ mansion somehow looked gloomier than all the other times Castiel had been there, or maybe it was because of his state of mind. He still had no idea what he was going to tell Meg. Hell, he didn’t know if he’d be able to see her: maybe her father would be there or maybe she would be too sick to receive him. He didn’t know if he was going to tell her the truth and warn her, or if he was going to lie to her face and walk away to leave her to deal with the debris of the life that was about to end for her.

All he knew for certain is that he needed to see her. He needed her like he had never needed her before.

Cassie opened the door and looked at him up and down, conjuring up a contempt more intense than Castiel had ever seen in the maid’s face.

“She’s been calling you,” she told him.

“I wasn’t home,” Castiel said, frowning. What did Meg need him for? Maybe she needed him to drive her to the doctor? Oh, God, was what she got earlier much graver than it looked like.

“Clearly,” Cassie said, with a tone so cold the temperature in the air dropped several degrees. “Come on in. I’ll see if she still wants to talk to you.”

“Cassie,” Castiel called her before the maid disappeared up the staircase. “What is going on?”

“I ain’t telling you what you did, Novak,” Cassie replied, turning her back on him.

Castiel waited nervously in the lobby. It was strange how he had become familiar with the threads in the carpet, with the pictures on the wall. At first the house had seemed unnecessarily ostentatious and frivolous, but he couldn’t help to think that because of all the times he had stood there waiting for Meg, he had grown accustomed to it and had come to associate it with Meg, Meg’s home, Meg’s place in the world. And just for that, he felt a numb sadness standing there with the lingering thought that it might be the last time.

Cassie called him from the top of the staircase.

“She’ll see you now,” she announced him, still with the same tone of indifference.

Castiel had rarely been allowed up, and it was the first time he walked in on Meg’s room. A big messy bed occupied most of it, with a library and a desk with a gramophone on it at one side. Meg was sitting in front of her boudoir that looked pretty much the same as the one she had in her dressing room at The Pit, with her back to the door, dressed only in one of her silky robes. Castiel could see her reflection in the mirror: she looked pale and her eyes were red.

However, her voice sounded firm when she said:

“Please, leave us alone, Cassie.”

“I’ll be right out here if you need me,” the maid said. After throwing another dirty look at Castiel, she turned around and closed the door as she left.

“Meg?” Castiel asked, concerned about all the unusualness. “What is it? Is there a problem…?”

“Yes, there is a problem,” Meg interrupted. “You might want to sit down.”

That did nothing for Castiel’s concern. He dragged the chair from the desk and sat close to Meg so he could touch her or hug her if she wanted him to. But Meg was sitting very rigid in her chair and besides her trembling lips, there wasn’t a trace of emotion in her face.

“Meg, please tell me what it is,” Castiel begged.

“Did you mean it?” Meg said. “When you said you would take care of me, did you mean that?”

Castiel swallowed loudly. Meg was piercing his face with her brown eyes wide open so intensely there was no way he could escape her stare.

“Every word,” he replied, truthfully. “Every word I ever said to you, I meant that. But Meg…”

“I’m pregnant.”

She barely whispered it, but her words boomed inside Castiel’s skull as clearly and loudly as she had screamed it into his ears.

For a second, he didn’t know how to react. His palms began sweating and his knees shivered violently.

“You’re…?”

The word got stuck in his throat and he couldn’t finish. Meg’s face remained impassible as she waited for him to assimilate the news. She obviously had gone through every emotion Castiel was going through right now, and it had left her drained.

“A-Are you sure?” Castiel stuttered in the end.

“Very sure, yes.”

“H-how?”

“I’m gonna go out on a limp here and say that you were probably there,” Meg shrugged.

“But you don’t know that.”

The smirk in Meg’s face was so bitter it broke Castiel’s heart.

“Meg, I’m sorry… I-I didn’t mean it that way…”

“No, I know how you meant it,” Meg said. “You’re wondering if I’m about to ask you to take care of Lucifer’s mess.”

“No, that’s not…”

“Well, I’m not,” Meg continued. Her tone was recovering some of her usual energy. “Don’t think I ain’t got ways to get out of this hole I dug myself in. Cassie knows a woman who can help me get rid of it. I can disappear for a little while and come back in nine months like nothing had happened. Hell, I could tell Luc it’s his and convince my father to speed up the wedding. I have been going through all the possibilities, Cas. So you can just stop looking at me with pity like I’m stupid chippy who went and got knocked up in the backseat of a car.”

Castiel didn’t pity her. He pitied himself and watching all his frail hopes crumble and fall apart as she kept talking.

“If you’re so certain you can handle this yourself, what do you need me here for?” he asked.

“Because I _always_ need you, you silly man,” Meg snapped. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”

She didn’t. Castiel breathed in, like he’d just got a weight off his chest he didn’t even know he was carrying.

“You love me.”

“Yes,” Meg said, like it was an immutable truth so simple she couldn’t believe Castiel hadn’t understand it before. “And I don’t want to do this alone.”

Her lower lip trembled, but it was obvious she didn’t want Castiel to see her cry. He dragged the chair closer and hugged her tight, as tight as he could. He could almost hear his brain buzzing. What was he supposed to do now? He couldn’t walk away from Meg. He was certain it would have been difficult before, but now it was nearly impossible. But how would she react when he told her the truth? Would she still want him there to help her deal with the crisis? Would she still believe him when he told her he loved her?

Meg’s shoulder shook as she let out a strangled sob against his chest.

Castiel’s mind cleared.

“We’ll run away,” he said. “We’ll go far away, you and I, where no one knows who we are. Where they can’t touch us.”

“Oh, yeah,” Meg said, with a bitter laugh. “And how are we supposed to do that?”

The question brought Castiel back to the harsh reality, but thankfully, it also brought out his more practical side.

“We’re going to need money,” he said. “To buy tickets for the train. We are going to need to go far…”

“Cas, hold on,” Meg pulled back and analyzed his face with a slow growing concern on her face, like she thought Castiel had lost his mind. “Oh, fuck, you’re being serious.”

“Of course I’m being serious,” Castiel replied. Meg inched away from Castiel slowly.

“I don’t want to get married,” she said.

Castiel imagined for one second the face of her ultra-religious mother if she heard what he was about to say:

“That’s alright. I don’t care either way.”

“Are you…?” Meg shook her head. “I’ve told you there’s a chance it’s Luc’s child…”

“I don’t care about that either,” Castiel assured her. “What’s important it’s that you obviously don’t want to raise it here, so I want to help you get away. All I ask of you is that you let me still be a part of your life.” He slid a hand to touch Meg’s still flat stomach. “And his.”

“It could be a girl,” she pointed out.

Castiel’s face lit up at the thought. A baby girl, as beautiful as Meg…

“Okay, now you’re smiling like a fool,” Meg said. “Cas, that is not a good thing. We have to…”

Castiel kissed her. And that simple action seemed to be more effective at erasing Meg’s doubt than any word that could have come out of his mouth. When they broke apart, she seemed pensive.

“I don’t have a lot of money of my own,” she grimaced. “That’s what happens when you work for your father. But Tom… Tom had some cash dad didn’t know about. He kept it in the apartment atop of The Pit, same place Luc uses to store the liquor. You know the boarded up window you can see from outside? There’s a loose brick underneath it. Tom’s savings are probably still there.”

“Very well,” Castiel nodded. “How do I get there?”

“There’s a secret stairwell hidden behind the bottle shelves,” Meg told him. “The handle is on the third rack.”

The investigator Castiel was wanted to kiss her. Thanks to her he’d made not one, but two major breaks in the case. But at that very moment, Castiel wasn’t thinking like an agent of the Bureau. He was simply a man protecting the woman he loved. He wasn’t even sure he was going to divulge that new found information to his partners.

However, what Meg said next convinced him to do so.

“He’s never going to leave us alone,” she said, with a somber expression. “We can never escape him.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Castiel said, barely realizing it was almost the same thing she had told her that night when they visited The Golden Swan. “We’ll figure out something. I promise.”

Meg nodded again, while Castiel cupped her face in his hands.

“I think it’s best if we don’t see each other for a few days,” he added. “When I have everything ready, I will send for you.”

“Wait,” Meg said, frowning. “What exactly are you going to do?”

“I’m going to make sure Lucifer can’t follow us,” he assured her, standing up with renewed energy.

“Cas,” Meg called him where he was at the door. “Whatever you do, please don’t involve my dad.”

Castiel left without making any promises.


	9. Chapter 9

“Cas, we’ve been over this place a thousand times,” Dean said. “Is it possible that, maybe, your contact is wrong?”

He threw an eloquent look at Castiel, because they both knew exactly who “his contact” was, but Benny, who was guarding The Pit’s main entrance, didn’t. And if he did, he was making a really good show at pretending otherwise.

“Brotha, you better speed this up,” he told them, after looking over his shoulder. “You know Milton’s gonna be back in a couple of hours and if we want to catch him before he gets here, we better have something to show for it.”

Castiel groaned. The speakeasy was empty except for the three of them and the usual crowd wouldn’t begin gathering until a few hours later. The usual human heat and charged atmosphere was gone, but Castiel was still sweating like a pig as he knocked on the third rack of the bottle shelf.

“This is a waste of time,” Dean continued to complain. “We have Crowley. We said we were going to ambush Lucifer when the next delivery takes place and…”

Castiel’s fingers found a protuberance on the wall. He pushed it as hard as he could.

At first, nothing happened. Then, a rattling sound interrupted Dean’s ranting, and the shelves slowly began to move apart, with the bottles clattering and shaking dangerously in their places. When they finally stopped, there was a doorway big enough for one man to fit through and a very narrow staircase before them.

“Well… I’ll be damn,” Benny muttered, and locked the basement’s door behind his back.

“I’m going to call Sam,” Dean said, immediately.

Castiel knew what would come next. Once Dean made that call and Bobby Singer obtained permission from a judge, a group of Bureau’s agent would rain down on the speakeasy to confiscate all the liquor and take it away to be burned. Tom’s money (Meg’s money) would be stored away as evidence in the case against Lucifer. Whatever Castiel was going to do, he had to do it now.

“I’m going up,” he said, picking up the lantern that they had brought along for that purpose.

“Don’t touch anything!” Dean warned him as he held the phone to his ear.

Castiel didn’t make any promises to him either.

Every step he climbed released a small cloud of dust underneath his heels, and by the time he reached the top, his shoes and his clothes were filthy. Castiel looked around. Even with just the faint light coming in through the boarded up window, he could see the piled up wooden boxes. The entire place smelled like stale air and booze. He could hear Dean’s muffled voice coming from beneath.

He didn’t have much time.

Finding the loose brick was much easier than finding the entry. After a few seconds of feeling in the dark and his fingers getting tangled in cobwebs, he found it. The purse was just as dirty as everything else in the apartment. Castiel dusted it off to find out it wasn’t dark grey, but most likely brown with an “M” embroidered on one side. He opened it.

Several bill rolls were stacked up inside, almost all of them of one hundred and at least one that Castiel could see of five hundred dollars. A cold sweat started forming in Castiel’s back. He’d never seen so much money together, let alone held it in his hand. And now he had to carry it all the way across town to buy train tickets for Meg and himself.

He still hadn’t decided where they should go. Meg talked a lot about Chicago, but maybe he could convince her to go to New York. It’d be easy to get lost there, and maybe she could attempt to build her music career.

He shook his head. He better saved the dreaming for later.

The purse burnt inside his jacket pocket when he came down to The Pit again.

“It’s definitely Lucifer’s stash,” he informed his partners.

“Back up is coming,” Dean informed him, as he hang up the phone.

“Does that mean we no longer have to deal with Crowley?” Castiel asked. He knew the answer already, but it didn’t hurt to hope.

“Nah. Lucifer’s going to smell something rotten when he sees this place swooped in by federal agents,” Benny pointed out. “If Crowley also calls him to tell him the delivery is off, there’s nothing stopping him from bailing.”

“But he’s not going to pass up in getting his hand on that juice,” Dean predicted. “Because that’ll give him the boot he needs to start over when he escapes. Not that he’s going to.”

“And Masters?”

“One thing at a time, brotha’,” Benny said. “My guess is we’ll wait until the rats begin fleeing the boat to try and catch them.”

“Or maybe we can let Crowley and Masters kill each other to take control of the city,” Dean suggested. Both Benny and Castiel glared at him. “Right. That’d be even more work for us,” Dean sighed.

Castiel remained quiet. He’d have to wait until the last minute to make the call. He had been planning and plotting in his head a way to keep his promise to Meg, but there were still a million things they could wrong. He was prepared to face the fact he was going to lose his job, possibly his friends as well.

A small part of him wondered if it was all worth it.

Another part of him made him look at the empty stage at the other side of the speakeasy, and he realized it was.

 

* * *

 

Meg was pacing around the lobby nervously. Her heels clattered on the floor with every step she took, while her dress rustled around her knees.

“Where is he?” she mumbled nervously.

“Pipe down, Meg,” Cassie said, sitting on the stair steps. “He’ll be here soon enough.”

“He’s late,” she pointed out, putting a thumb between her lips. “He’s never late.”

Cassie stood up to grab her hand.

“You need to calm down,” she told her. “And you need to take that off,” she added, pointing at the fur coat Meg had put on and taken off several times. “You can’t be stressing yourself like that. It ain’t good for the baby.”

Meg cringed at the word. She thought she had assimilated it already, but she still felt as shocked as when Cassie had asked her if she’d be needing more pads and Meg had found she had several unused ones from the month before. She had spent several hours despairing and considering her options. She didn’t know the first thing about being a mother. She hadn’t had one. Her father would be furious. He could never, ever find out about this.

And what if the baby was born with Luc’s grey eyes instead of Castiel’s blue ones? What if…?

There were too many questions. Meg let Cassie sit her down by her side on the step, and hid her face in her friend’s shoulder.

“Come here,” Cassie said, petting her hair. “It’s all gonna be alright, you’ll see. Your man is the bee’s knees, you’ve told me yourself. He’s going to take you away from here, and you won’t have to think about any of this anymore.”

Meg let out the air she was holding in. Yes. Castiel said he would take care of things. She had to trust him.

But it was almost time for her performance and he hadn’t come to pick her up. He said it’d be best if they stayed out of touch for a while, but him completely dropping off the face of the earth was far too suspicious to stay calm about it.

She was just thinking that when the phone rang. Meg almost stumbled upon her feet but Cassie put a hand on her shoulder to stop her and picked up the phone herself.

“Hello?” she said. She looked at Meg and shook her head. “Yes, Mr. Masters. She’s right here.”

Meg took a couple of breaths. She realized she would have screamed Castiel’s name upon picking up, and that would have been disastrous. She thanked the God she didn’t believe in for Cassie watching her every movement and stopping her for making that sort of mistakes.

“Daddy?” she said, in her most calm tone. “Sorry I’m late, Novak hasn’t picked me up…”

“Little dove, there’s a problem,” her father interrupted her. “The prohis are on The Pit right now.”

“What?” Meg shouted. She gripped on the phone so tight her knuckles went white.

“They’ve discovered Luc’s stashed,” Azazel continued explaining. “Things are going be a little shaky for some time, but I don’t want you to worry about anything.”

“Dad, where are you right now?” Meg asked.

“My office,” Azazel said. “I’m, uh… getting rid of some garbage.”

Meg imagined her dad in the studio where he spent his nights and made his business, feeding the stove any and every document that might link him to Lucifer.

“Everything’s going to be alright, baby,” he assured her once again. “You should stay home tonight, and if anyone comes asking, you tell them you don’t know where I am.”

“I understand,” Meg said, gravely. “What about Luc?”

There was a prolonged silence on the other end of the line.

“The prohis are looking for him and he knows it,” he said, in the end. “He’s going to have to lay low for a while too. But I’m sure he’s going to let you know where he is soon.”

“Yes,” Meg said, trying to tone down the coldness in his voice. “I’m sure he will.”

He was probably hiding in The Golden Swan right at that very moment. But if the prohis knew about the stash, they should know about Lilith too. She wondered where they’d got the information. The only people who knew how to access that old empty apartment on top of the speakeasy, besides her dad and herself, were all loyal to Luc and would never…

Meg hanged up the phone with a terrible suspicion creeping in.

“Castiel,” she muttered. “What did you do?”

She didn’t know why it surprised her. She’d suspected (she’d feared) that he would go to the authorities, but she didn’t expect them to actually act on the tip…

She took a couple of steps, but she felt dizzy and had to lean on the wall.

That morning, before the nauseas attacked her, she had woken up next to Castiel, with his breath grazing the back of her neck. She had been so happy, so certain everything would go unchanged for at least a while longer.

And now her entire world had turned upside down, and she wanted to turn back time. She wanted to go back to their room at the Roadhouse, to Castiel holding her tight and telling her he loved her…

The sound of the doorbell brought her back to reality. She turned around to find out Cassie had been watching her with her dark eyes wide open, probably ready to catch her if she fell. Meg made a point to smile and pretend everything was okay.

“Tell whoever it is that I’m not home,” she said, and then she realized that’d be too unbelievable. “Tell them I’m sick and I can’t receive anyone right now. Just… get them to leave.”

“You got it,” Cassie nodded.

Meg turned around to climb the stairs. Whoever was at the door kept ringing insistently, and she could hear Cassie’s irritated “I’m coming, I’m coming”. She had barely reached the top when she heard his voice:

“Where is she?”

She froze. As if this day could get any worse.

“Miss Masters is not feeling well right now,” Cassie informed him. “She is no condition to receive anyone.”

“Well, she’s gonna want to receive me, sweetcakes,” he said. “Go tell her to come down here.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Milton,” Cassie said, firmly. “I have my instructions.”

Somebody ought to give her a medal of valor for holding her ground against what sounded like a very angry, very volatile Lucifer Milton. But Meg wasn’t about to let her best friend face that all alone.

“That’s fine, Cassie,” she said, going back down again. “Let him in.”

It was strange seeing Lucifer so scruffy. His usually impeccable suit was wrinkled and dirty, like he had slept in it, or like he had picked it up from the floor where it was carelessly tossed the night before. It meant he probably had spent the night with Lilith and hadn’t been able to go back to his apartment to change because the prohis were watching it.

As she stepped closer to him, Meg found out she didn’t care anymore. Luc was done. He was going to be locked up, and she was going to be far away from that bad luck town. That thought gave her the strength to look at him in the face.

He seemed calm, but his eyes were sparkling with barely contained rage as he stared at her up and down.

“I thought you were feeling sick, doll,” he said.

“I’m not,” Meg said. “I was going to The Pit when Daddy called me to tell me what’d happened. Hadn’t had time to change yet.”

“Oh, yes, your daddy,” Luc mumbled. “You wouldn’t know where he is right now, would you?”

“He called from a public phone,” she lied. “It’s a delicate situation, Luc. You shouldn’t be here. They’re probably watching the house.”

“Are you trying to tell me what to do?” Lucifer asked.

Meg felt a nausea that had nothing to do with her condition.

“Of course not,” she said, with a deadpan expression.

“The prohis are taking another stab in the dark,” Lucifer said, contempt seething in his tone. “There’s nothing to it.”

Meg nodded, obediently.

“You look like all sorts of hell. Why don’t you sit down and have a drink? Cassie can make us dinner.”

That seems to placate him a little.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he said, strolling into the house like he owned the place.

Cassie threw Meg an interrogating look, so she took a moment to assure her everything was okay. She could handle Lucifer. At least she thought she would. While Cassie disappeared in the kitchen’s direction, Meg followed her fiancé into the library and opened her dad’s minibar. She poured a drink of the best whiskey they had and called Cassie to bring some ice over.

All that time, she could feel Lucifer’s eyes following her every move. She had to suppress shivers once they were alone again.

“Look at you, all collected and composed,” Lucifer said once Meg handed him the glass. “You’re the kind of woman a fellow needs in a crisis.”

“Oh, we’re in a crisis?” Meg asked, sitting in the armchair across from him. “I thought it was just the prohis taking a stab in the dark.”

Lucifer leaned his head backwards and let out a bitter cackle.

“An incredibly precise stab this time,” he admitted. “Makes one wonder if they’ve suddenly wised up… or if somebody wised them up.”

Meg crossed her legs and remained as still as she could while she asked the next question:

“You think there’s a whistleblower?”

“Oh, baby doll,” Lucifer snickered. “I _know_ there is.”

He took a sip from the glass and swallowed very slowly before piercing her with those grey eyes as cold as ice. Meg remained exactly where she was until she couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Well?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and trying to pretend like the answer didn’t matter. “Who is it?”

Lucifer downed the rest of the whiskey and stood up. In two long strides, he was towering menacingly over Meg now.

“Don’t sit there all pretty and pretend you’re innocent,” he growled.

“Luc, I have no idea what you’re talking about…”

The rest of Meg’s excuses die out in a surprised yell. Lucifer had just grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled so hard Meg had no choice but to stand up and look at him in the face.

“Only three people knew where the access to the stash was,” he said. “You, your daddy and me.”

She’d never seen Lucifer so furious, not even when he ordered his goons to beat some poor devil up for some perceive sin against him. The corners of his mouth were rigid in what could have looked like a smile to someone watching from a distance, but up close, it looked like a rabid dog about to attack. And he was hurting her, the hand he was grasping his hair with was pulling and twisting like he wanted to rip the locks right out of her skull.

It was terrifying.

She still managed to keep her voice firm when she replied: “I didn’t tell anyone.”

For a second, she thought that wasn’t enough to convince him, but slowly, finger by finger, he let go off her and took a step backwards.

“I believe you,” he said. “Or I believe you didn’t _mean_ to tell. But still, baby doll, if your daddy and I end up in a cage it’s all going to be your fault.”

Meg’s stomach dropped, because she knew he was right. But he couldn’t know that. She watched him as he grabbed the bottle of whiskey and poured himself another drink.

“That’s not fair,” she replied, defiantly. “How is it my fault the prohis found out about your stash?”

“Well, my darling,” Lucifer snickered. “You should know. You spent almost every day with one!”

He downed the second whiskey while he waited for Meg to process that information.

“No,” she said. “No, that can’t be right.”

“Oh, yeah,” Lucifer nodded. “You’ve had the unique honor of being driven around by Special Agent _Novak_.”

Meg held onto the back of the armchair like her life depended on it.

“He’s not…” she muttered, knowing her tone was betraying her, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. “He can’t be…”

Lucifer’s cold laughter was like getting stab in the gut.

“Why? Because you like him?” he said. “Because you’re best pals? Because you slept with him?”

Meg felt the colors abandoning her face. Lucifer’s mocking demeanor changed entirely.

“You _didn’t_ sleep with him, did you?” he asked, taking a step closer to her.

The blood was boiling inside her veins. What she really wanted to do was spit all the truth to his face. To tell him that yes, she had slept with him. Why the fuck not? He had his own personal whore after all, why couldn’t she do the same? Tell him that Castiel was much more than that, though. Tell him how his kisses made her shiver, how every touch on her skin had felt like he was a careful painter and she was her master piece, and that she’d felt pleasure like she didn’t know it was possible. Tell him that compared to him, Lucifer was a bland and boring lover and of course he had to pay for a woman to lie that she’d enjoyed it.

Tell him that none of it mattered now. Because he wasn’t coming back to take her away. He had just used her to get a break on his case, and she was stupid for believing any of his words.

“No, of course not,” she told Lucifer instead.

He didn’t notice her putting a protective arm against her stomach, and if he did, he didn’t understand the importance of that gesture.

“Oh, baby doll,” Lucifer said, with his expression softening. He put down the glass of whiskey and opened his arms towards her. “Come here.”

He held her tight enough for it not to be right. It was possessive and overbearing. He wasn’t consoling her or showing her affection. He was reminded her where she belonged.

“It doesn’t matter now,” he muttered in his ear. “It’s all forgiven.”

Meg had a lump on her throat, so she didn’t answer. Lucifer let go of her and cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs stroking circles on her cheek, almost tenderly.

“I’m going to have him taken care of,” he promised her. “Would you like that? Would you like to not have to think about him ever again?”

“Yes,” Meg said, and maybe for the first time, she was being sincere with him. “Yes, I think that’d be grand.”

“How can I say no to you?” Lucifer asked, and leaned over to kiss her. His lips were cold as dry ice against hers. “Now, you don’t worry about a thing, darling,” he added, heading for the door. “Everything will be sorted out in time.”

“What are you going to do?” Meg asked, trying not to think about how similar that conversation was to the one she’d had that very morning.

“Why, I’m going to take care of some unfinished business,” Lucifer said. “And when those are done, you and I are going to start anew. I promise you, baby doll, that you won’t miss a thing about the way you live right now. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t know how to take care of my dame?”

Meg offered him a wary smile, but Lucifer was already out of the door. When she was finally alone, Meg gave in to the weakness around her knees. She didn’t know how long she spent staring at the wall, wishing for it all to disappear, wishing for the pain to go away. All she knew was that at some point, Cassie walked into the library and it took her a second or two to register what she was saying.

“… what the hell happened?” she was asking. “Meg, are you alright? You look live you’ve seen the Devil, girl.”

Meg looked at her, the honest concern in her eyes, and she couldn’t hold it any longer.

“He lied, Cassie,” she said. “He lied about everything.”

Cassie didn’t need to ask who she meant. She just hugged Meg against her chest and let her cry for what felt like centuries.


	10. Chapter 10

The day they were going to ambush Lucifer was grey and cold. A storm was looming over the city, and that could ruin an important part of their plans, but DA Singer looked optimistic.

“Great day to bring some pieces of garbage to justice,” he commented right before they left the Bureau’s quarters. “We’re going to win today. I can feel it in these old bones.”

Castiel didn’t say anything. He simply wanted it to be over soon.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” Dean commented as they got in the car.

“I have many things running through my mind,” Castiel replied with a shrug.

“Like?” Dean said.

Castiel didn’t answer for a moment or two. They were leaving behind the known buildings of the city, heading for the harbors were the exchange would be taking place. A strange sense of nostalgia invaded Castiel. That city had never felt like home, but he’d always remember it as the place where he met and fell in love with Meg.

“As soon as today’s mission is done,” he said. “I am presenting my resignation.”

Dean almost crash into a semaphore.

“You’re leaving the Bureau?” he asked.

“Dean… Dean, please keep your eyes on the road,” Castiel begged, nervously.

Dean still took another minute to stare at him because he focused on driving again.

“Why?” he asked when he recovered his speech.

Castiel shrugged again, but he realized that was not the answer Dean was looking for.

“Lots of reason.”

“Okay, look, I know the pay is shitty and that we sometimes make deals with shady people like Crowley,” Dean said. “But you’re essentially walking away from a secure job…”

“I’m leaving with Meg,” Castiel cut him off.

Dean parked the car a few blocks away from the harbor and turned to look at his friend.

“Cas…” he began.

“I know what you think of her,” Castiel interrupted him before he could go on. “And I know how you feel about our relationship. But circumstances have changed. She needs me, Dean. She’s going to need me even more after today.”

Dean still looked unconvinced. He opened his mouth, like he was going to say something else, but then he closed it again.

“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” he said, with a sigh.

“I do.”

“And I hope you don’t live to regret it.”

“I won’t,” Castiel assured him. “I’ll never regret any of it, Dean.”

It seemed that was everything that needed to be said, so Castiel reached out for the doors handle, but stopped when Dean’s hand landed on his shoulder.

“If you’re ever in trouble,” he told him. “If you ever need my help… I’m only a phone call away, you understand?”

Castiel nodded, solemnly. Dean’s friendship was invaluable to him, and it was one of the things Castiel was going to miss the most once he left.

Speaking of phone calls…

“Can I borrow a quarter?” he asked. “I need to make one last thing before all of this goes down.”

“Hurry up,” Dean said, throwing the coin at him.

Castiel deduced Dean thought he was going to call Meg, but after finding a public phone just a block away, the number he dialed was much different.

“Hello?”

Azazel Master’s voice sounded rough and slurry, like the voice of a man who had been drinking too much and sleeping too little.

“Mr. Masters, this a courtesy call,” Castiel said. “Your business partner, Lucifer Milton, is about to be apprehended by the Bureau of Prohibition.”

“What? How?” Azazel sounded more awake now, like Castiel’s words had woken up from his slumber. “Who is this? Novak?”

“As soon as he is secured, District Attorney Singer will most likely try to go after you next,” Castiel continued, not even bothering to answer the question about his identity. “I suggest you be out of town by then.”

There was a long pause on the other side.

“What about Meg?” Azazel asked in the end.

“Time is of the essence, Mr. Masters,” Castiel replied, simply.

“So, what? Are you saying I just forsake my daughter like it ain’t nothing?” Azazel groaned.

“You could let her know you’re leaving, but not where you’re going,” Castiel said. “The Bureau will certainly interrogate her upon your disappearance.”

“Got you. The less she knows the better,” Azazel understood. He sighed deeply and Castiel could practically picture him rubbing his yellow-tinted eyes. “Is she going to be alright?”

“She will be,” Castiel said. “I will make sure of it.”

“You’re a good man, Novak,” Azazel said, and hung up abruptly.

Castiel did the same, sighing deeply. He’d done it. He’s committed a crime by warning Azazel, but he’d done what Meg had asked him to. Her father was out of danger. Now they only had to deal with Lucifer.

Castiel took a moment to lean against the wall. He hadn’t thought much of what would happen past that point, but now it was here, he could almost taste it. A life ahead for the both of them. The three of them, he corrected himself with a smile.

“You ready?” Dean asked when Castiel walked back to the car.

“As I’ll ever be.”

Benny was giving Crowley a full pat down on board of the ship where the liquor was stored.

“Say, there’s no reason for you to burn it all down after you’re done,” Crowley was saying. “Could be bait for another interested buyer…”

“Nice try, Fergus,” Bobby rolled his eyes at him.

“It was worth the question,” Crowley sighed, and dusted off his shoulders even though his suite was impeccable as always. The rose in his lapel even looked freshly-cut.

“Just remember, as soon as the deal is done…” Sam began.

“Yes, yes, I give you the sign, you all rain down on Lucifer, and then we all hold hands and river-dance into the horizon,” the mobster said. “I understand, old geezer. There’s no reason for you to be uptight about this.”

The Winchesters brothers exchanged exasperated looks. Castiel understood that if this failed, all of their careers would be on the line. He was risking something far more important than that, so he was the one who stepped down in front of Crowley and grabbed him by the collar.

“If you betray us,” he said, in a lower whisper. “I will personally hunt you down and end you, Crowley.”

The mobster’s eyes went wide with shock, but his smile remained as confident and sleazy as always.

“Well, then,” he said. “No need to worry about paying taxes in the future.”

“Lucifer should be here soon enough,” Benny said, looking at his watch.

“Go for your positions, boys,” Bobby instructed them. “And remember, if things get out of hand, don’t be afraid to burn some powder. This son of a bitch won’t. We’d be right across the street, ready to call in the cavalry if we see something we don’t like.”

Everybody nodded comprehensively. Then Castiel, Benny and Dean left went to hide below deck.

“Brotha, I am not gonna miss this mission,” Benny said, shaking his head. “As soon as we are done, I’m taking a long overdue vacation to do some fishing back at the dear old Big Easy.”

“You do that, Lafitte,” Dean laughed. “I’m sure you’re gonna have a blast.”

Castiel was busy loading his gun, so he didn’t see the expression on Banny’s face when he asked the next question.

“Say, you wouldn’t be interested in joinin’ me, would you, Dean?”

However, the twinkle in Dean’s eyes when he answered it didn’t escape Castiel.

“Well, uh… I don’t know,” Dean said, scratching the back of his neck. “Guess I’ll give it a thought.”

Castiel wasn’t entirely sure what had happened, and didn’t have the time to find out either, because they heard steps on top of the deck and Lucifer’s voice filtering through the boards.

“Hello there, Fergus.”

“Mr. Milton,” Crowley was saying. “It’s good to see you in one piece.”

“I’m not quite sure I’m catching your drift,” Lucifer replied.

“There were some nasty rumors flying around that the prohis had flooded your establishment,” Crowley said. “That you’d gone M. I. A. and this city was a free grab for whoever could put their hands in it first.”

“You’ll be glad to know those rumors were wrong. I had a rat in my payroll, but rest assured, it’s not something I’m letting happen again,” Lucifer said. “In any case, Both me and Lilith are in perfect health and ready to resume business despite this little mishap.”

“I see,” Crowley said. “And just out of curiosity, whatever happened to dear old Azazel?”

“Why’s he taking so long?” Benny muttered, frustrated.

“He wants to know about Masters ‘cause he’ll be the competition once we take down Milton,” Dean deduced. “Of course, he doesn’t know we have enough to take down Masters as well.”

Castiel didn’t say a word. At this time, if everything went right, Azazel Masters would be taking a train away from the Bureau’s hands.

“He’s been hiding from me because he knows exactly who the rat is,” Lucifer said. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll deal with him and that bratty daughter of his in time, just like I dealt with his son.”

Castiel’s hand tensed around the grip of his gun, and if it wasn’t for Dean’s arm on his shoulder, he would have ran upstairs and put a bullet right between Lucifer’s eyes at that very moment.

“Enough chit-chat,” Lucifer determined. “Let’s get to business.”

“Right, of course,” Crowley said, compliant. “Everything is below deck, as agreed.”

The three agents exchanged looks. Something was wrong. That wasn’t meant to happen. Lucifer wasn’t meant to come down there, they were supposed to go up on Crowley’s cue and arrest him.

The mobster had just betrayed them. The ambush was for them.

The deck’s door burst opened, and the barrel of a machine gun appeared through it. Castiel ducked behind a box before the explosion of bullets against the floor and walls. Smoke invaded the air, making Castiel think they’d thrown in a grenade as well. He took out his gun, but he was blinded and disoriented and it wasn’t long before he heard the footsteps closing in. He looked at his right to see Dean and Benny, crouched behind boxes just like him. Benny lifted five fingers in the air. They were outnumbered.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Lucifer taunted them. “Come on, boys. You really didn’t think you’d be able to betray _me_ and live a long, prosper life, did you now?”

A second round of bullets flew around, still too far away to hit any of them, but close enough to deafen them.

Castiel gritted his teeth. He wasn’t going to die. Not there. Not like that.

He caught Benny out of the corner of his eyes beckoning to stay down, but he had already popped his head over the box.

The man with the machine gun tried to point at him, but he was too slow: Castiel’s bullet hit him right in the middle of the forehead, and he collapsed onto the floor. His machine gun kept firing after it fell and the high pitch scream the echoed around indicated that somebody had been shot in the foot.

After that, all hell broke loose.

Bullets were flying, shots exploding in Castiel’s ears as he popped his head and went back down again before any of the enemies could get to him. He was vaguely aware Dean was doing the same, and that Benny had disappeared behind another stack of boxes. They had to hold them off. Bobby and Sam must have noticed something was wrong by now, they’d be receiving back-up any minute now…

A box flew across the room, hitting one of Lucifer’s thugs in the head. It got him to fall on the floor amidst the strident sound of broken glass. The attack was so sudden and so out of the blue that both Lucifer and his only standing ally stopped shooting for a moment that Benny didn’t waste: he jumped on the gangster and struggled with him for his gun.

The last thug raised his gun, trying to get Benny off his boss, but two shots fired one after the other stopped him. Castiel never knew if it was Dean or him who took the killing shot. He liked to think it was Dean, and that his bullet was the one that ended in Lucifer’s chest instead of in his goons head.

Benny let go of Lucifer once he got his hand, and the gangster fell down in the pool of spilled liquor and blood that was spreading all through the floor. The smell of powder floated in the air, and the three agents stared at each other, breathless and confused for a second.

Dean was the first to recover his speech.

“Crowley, you son of a bitch!” he screamed, frustrated. “Dammit, Cas, you were right about him!”

The howling of sirens was growing closer, meaning that Bobby and Sam had finally called in the back-up. Benny disappeared upstairs, but came back shaking his head.

“Nowhere to be found,” he informed him. “The bastard must’ve taken off as soon as the fight began.”

“He won’t go far,” Dean guaranteed.

Castiel wanted to go after Crowley as much as they did, but first, he had to make sure. He knelt next to Lucifer’s body, not caring if his clothes got stained. Just when he was going to put two fingers in his neck to check his pulse, Lucifer opened his eyes.

For a fraction of a second, those eyes fixed on him with unadulterated hatred. Castiel tried to get away, but with a howl of fury, Lucifer raised his hand and launched it towards him.

He didn’t so much see the blade as he felt it. It sank past his clothes, his vest, his skin. A numb pain expanded through his stomach, and it became sharp and much stronger as Lucifer twisted it. Castiel gasped for air, and he wasn’t sure if he screamed, but next thing he knew, somebody was pulling him away from Lucifer’s reach and a second person was dragging the gangster away.

“Cas!” Dean shouted in his ear. “Cas, hang on…!”

Castiel looked down. He was dizzy and his vision had become blurry, but he still saw the red stain that began appearing on the hand he’d instinctively placed over the wound.

“Help’s on the way!” Dean was saying. “You need to hang in there, Cas…”

“Dean,” Castiel mumbled, and it felt like he had to rip every word out of the back of his throat. “Please, tell Meg…”

“You can tell her yourself,” Dean interrupted him. “Come on, Cas, you can’t just… Cas! Cas…!”

Dean’s voice was barely reaching him now. There were black spots floating in front of his vision. He vaguely realized there were people coming in there, that there were talking loudly and moving around the bloody scene. But Castiel was floating far, far away from them, until he finally sank into the darkness and then he knew nothing else.

 

* * *

 

The evening paper read: “THREE CRIMINALS AND ONE AGENT DEAD DURING THE ARREST OF INFAMOUS GANGSTER LUC ‘LUCIFER’ MILTON.”

Meg had spent the night trying to convince herself she didn’t care about Castiel’s fate, that he had lied to her and stolen her brother’s money, and he deserved no pity at all.

Still, when Cassie brought her the newspaper with a strangled “I am so sorry, Miss Masters,” her heart had skipped a beat. She’d practically snatched it from Cassie’s hands, and she’d read the article twice, and then a third time through the blinding tears.

The three dead men were well known Lucifer associates who had decided to join him in what they knew to be an ambush thanks to the warnings of the smuggler Fergus Crowley, who had fled the scene and his current whereabouts were unknown. Lucifer was “safely secured” in a federal prison awaiting trial along with his surviving accomplice. The article cited “the brave actions” of three agents, but Castiel was the only one who was mentioned by name. He was also the only one whose picture accompanied the article.

He was wearing an impeccable suite and seemed very serious looking at the camera. It must have been taken from his file at the Bureau. He seemed a bit younger in it, probably because it didn’t show the crinkles that formed around his eyes when he laughed, or the bags underneath them he had after she’d kept him awake an entire night. It didn’t show the stunning blue of his eyes, or how messy his hair could get after she’d ran her fingers through it.

That wasn’t her Castiel. That was more like the Castiel she’d met that first night at The Pit, all stiff and rigid and quick to follow whichever order Lucifer gave him.

She still cut the photograph and put it between the pages of her book, because it was the only picture she had of him. She knew with time she’d forget his voice, she’d forget the exact texture of his fingertips against her skin, but she’d at least have a way to remember his face.

Afterwards, she sat down to reflect.

Castiel was dead. Lucifer was arrested. Her father had run away God knew where.

She was all alone in the world, except for the little thing growing inside of her.

Meg put a hand over her still plane stomach. She’d heard that women felt instant connections to their babies and some even talked to them. She felt the impulse to do so. To tell that tiny thing that its father had been a very brave man, that he had loved her very much and that if he had lived long enough, he would have love it as well.

But she couldn’t force the words out of her lips.

Cassie discreetly knocked on her door.

“There’s a man at the door claiming to be an Agent of the Bureau,” she informed Meg. “Says he needs to talk to you. Should I scare him away?”

Meg was tempted to say yes, but the longer she delayed the interrogation she knew was coming, the worse.

“Let him in and tell him to wait at the library,” she instructed Cassie. “I’ll be down there in a few minutes.”

She took her time to wash her face, put on some make-up and select a dress that made her look like the respectable unmarried daughter of the businessman her father always fancied himself to be. What kind of business got people killed, thought? Meg had already lost two persons he loved…

“Tom,” she said out loud. “If you are a boy, I will name you Tom.”

 

* * *

 

She couldn’t say she was shocked to see the person waiting downstairs, but she still let out a bitter chuckle and mumbled: “ _Et tu, Brute_?”

“Miss Masters,” Dean Winchester greeted her, showing her his I. D. “I’d like to ask you some questions.”

“Spare me, Dean,” Meg said, rolling her eyes. “You’ve been serving me shots for months, so don’t act like we’re strangers.”

Dean didn’t seem to have an answer to that, so Meg sat down in the same armchair she’d chosen when Lucifer went to confront her. Strangely, the memory gave her strength to look at Dean in the eye. He nodded, like he had decided the whole federal agent act wasn’t necessary.

“Where’s your dad?” he asked, predictably.

“No idea.”

“Please, don’t lie to me, Meg,” Dean sighed. “I’ve had a long day.”

He did seem tired, but Meg didn’t sympathize.

“I am not,” she assured him. “He called, said he was skipping town. Didn’t mention a location or a return date. Sorry I can’t be more useful.”

He had said he would call for her once the dust had settled a little, but she didn’t think Dean needed to know that. Dean nodded and he was about to turn his back on her when Meg called him.

“How did he die?” she asked. Dean hesitated, so Meg pushed: “I answered your question, you answer mine.”

“Lucifer stabbed him,” said Dean, after a pause.

“Yeah,” Meg nodded. That was exactly what she’d imagined. “He did say he was taking care of Castiel.”

Dean’s reaction was violent and immediate. He walked up to the armchair where Meg was sitting with fire in his green eyes and his fists clenched.

“Don’t you dare speak about him like that,” he growled. “He loves you. For reasons that are beyond my understanding but…”

“He loved me,” Meg corrected him.

“What?”

“You meant to say he _loved_ me,” Meg repeated. She had to start getting used to that, thinking about Castiel in past tense,

Dean shook his head and took a deep breath, and that seemed to calm his temper. He searched for something inside his jacket.

“I assume this is yours,” he said.

He was holding an old, brown purse with an “M” embroidered on the side. Meg swallowed loudly, but Dean seemed to read the understanding in her eyes, because he simply placed it on the coffee table next to Meg, and put on his hat.

“He thought about you,” he added. “Before he… he died. He said your name.”

Meg didn’t answer to that either, so Dean took his leave.

She stayed were she was for several minutes, staring at the purse like it was some sort of venomous creature. She had accepted Castiel was a liar and that he had decided to keep the money for himself. So if she opened the purse and found something that proved her wrong, her heart would be broken all over again in a brand new way she wasn’t sure she could endure.

In the end, she couldn’t take it. She grabbed it and brusquely zipped it open.

She wanted to cry and laugh at the same time.

All the money was there, as well as two train tickets for Chicago.

 

* * *

 

A few weeks later, a blonde, short-haired woman was sitting on the station, a heavy suitcase resting at her feet and a small baby bump barely covered by her jacket. She’d barely slept the night before and she’d spent most of the morning vomiting violently. She’d called for her maid before remembering she’d dismissed her the previous evening (Cassie had held her for a very long time, and cried on her shoulder while Meg patted her back and promised to write, a promise she didn’t intend to keep).

She caught a glimpse of herself in the windows of the leaving train and almost didn’t recognize herself. The hairstyle change had been her father’s idea, paranoid that someone would follow her and discover where he was hiding. His instructions had been clear: she was to take several combinations of trains to lose anybody who would be following her, and keep looking over her shoulder all the damn time.

Interestingly, her father had chosen the same day as Castiel for her escape. They both had calculated almost exactly when the excitement for Lucifer’s capture would die down. Meg had taken out the tickets for the Chicago express out of the purse, then she had put them back in, and now they were in her jacket’s pocket.

She still hadn’t decided what she was going to do. If she went to her father, she knew another golden cage awaited her. But going the opposite direction didn’t make any sense without Castiel. She told herself she’d made the decision when the time came, so she just sat there, watching the people come and go, trying to guess their names and their stories.

A man with dark hair and a long brown trench coat passed her by.

Meg practically jumped off her seat, but repressed the impulse of running after him. No, it couldn’t be. She must have seen wrong, she must have been missing him so bad… of course, it had been foolish to think… but the way her heart started pounding…

The man turned around, combing the crowd like he was looking for someone.

He had a beard, but even his eyes were exactly the right shade of blue.

“Cas?” she called out. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be, she must have been mistaken, her mind must be playing tricks on her…

In two swift strides, the man was standing in front of her.

“Meg,” he said.

And all of Meg’s doubts disappeared.

She reached out to touch him, just to make sure he wasn’t a ghost. He felt solid under her fingers.

“It’s me,” he assured her.

Meg slapped him across the face.

“How dare you!” she shouted. “How _dare_ you! I mourned you! I thought you were…!”

She couldn’t continue. She was choking on her own tears. Castiel, apparently completely unfazed by her fury, put his arms around her and held him tight against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, with his lips grazing her hair. “I’m so sorry, Meg, I couldn’t let you know…”

Meg struggled to get away, but in the end she gave in. She stood there, with her face pressed against his chest, inhaling his smell and sinking her fingers into his shoulders like she was still afraid he would vanish in thin air and she could keep her by her side by sheer force of will.

“Bobby said it’d be better if everyone thought I was dead,” Castiel explained to her in a whisper. “Lucifer still has associates he could send after me, even though I left the Bureau…”

Meg suddenly remembered the other reason she was furious at him, and took a step backwards.

“You lied to me,” she accused him.

“Yes,” Castiel admitted. “And I’m sorry.”

They stared at each other, only a few inches away apart. Meg wanted to close that distance and kiss him, forget about everything that had gone in the last weeks, but she couldn’t…

A long whistle, along with station guards calling out brought her back from her thoughts. The Chicago express had just entered the platform.

There was such sadness in Castiel’s eyes it almost broke her heart all over again.

“I didn’t lie about how I feel about you,” he said. “I didn’t lie about wanting to start a new life with you. That was all true, Meg. It still is.”

The guards were calling for people to board the train. The crowd at the station was moving, completely ignoring their little drama.

“I am leaving,” he announced. “I have to if I want to be safe. And I… I’ll understand if you want to go to your father instead of coming with me. If you don’t want to see me again, I promise you…”

Meg made her choice.

“Honeymooners?” the train guard asked as he helped them place their luggage in their compartment.

“Yes,” Castiel replied, with a little smile. “You could say so.”

He tipped the man generously while Meg sat by the window, looking outside until Castiel sat by her side. Then she looked at him again, like she was determined not let him out of her sight ever again.

“How did you survive?” she asked.

“With two inches less of intestines and a nasty scar,” Castiel replied. For the first time since what felt like centuries, Meg smiled.

“You have to tell me the whole story one day.”

“I will,” he promised. He put an arm around her shoulders and Meg leaned into him and closed her eyes. Castiel thought she had fallen asleep until he heard her humming:

_He’ll build a little home_

_Just meant for two_

_From which I’ll never stray_

_Who would, would you?_

_And so, all else above_

_I’m waiting for the man I love…_

The train whistle blew high and acute. They stared at the station until they left it disappeared around a curve, and then there was nowhere to look at but straight up ahead. Straight up ahead towards their new life.


End file.
